&EBEN  HOLDEN& 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2010  with  funding  from 

University  of  North  Carolina  at  Chapel  Hill 


http://www.archive.org/details/ebenholdentaleof10bach 


EBEN    HOLDEN 
*  #  * 


A    TALE     OF    THE 
NORTH    COUNTRY 


By  * 

IRVING    BACHELLER 

Author  of  "A  Master  of  Silence  " 


BOSTON  £ 

LOTHROP   PUBLISHING   COMPANY 


Copyright,    1900, 
BY    LOTHROP    PUBLISHING    COMPANY. 


First  Edition,  July  2,  1900. 
Second  Edition,  August  8,  1900. 
Third  Edition,  August  21,  1900. 
Fourth  Edition,  August  30,  1900. 
Fiftieth  Thousand,  September  25,  1900. 


TCorfoonti  39rt53  : 
Berwick  &  Smith,  Norwood,  Mass.,  U.S.A. 


To  my  Mother 


PREFACE 


Early  in  the  last  century  the  hardy  wood- 
choppers  began  to  come  west,  out  of  Vermont. 
They  founded  their  homes  in  the  Adirondack 
wildernesses  and  cleared  their  rough  acres 
with  the  axe  and  the  charcoal  pit.  After  years 
of  toil  in  a  rigorous  climate  they  left  their  sons 
little  besides  a  stumpy  farm  and  a  coon-skin 
overcoat.  Far  from  the  centers  of  life  their 
amusements,  their  humors,  their  religion,  their 
folk  lore,  their  views  of  things  had  in  them  the 
flavor  of  the  timber  lands,  the  simplicity  of 
childhood.  Every  son  was  nurtured  in  the  love 
of  honor  and  of  industry,  and  the  hope  of  some- 
time being  president.  It  is  to  be  feared  this  lat- 
ter thing  and  the  love  of  right  living,  for  its  own 
sake,  were  more  in  their  thoughts  than  the  im- 
mortal crown  that  had  been  the  inspiration 
of  their  fathers.  Leaving  the  farm  for  the 
more  promising  life  of  the  big  city  they  were  as 
v 


VI 


Preface 


men  born  anew,  and  their  second  infancy  was 
like  that  of  Hercules.  They  had  the  strength 
of  manhood,  the  tireless  energy  of  children 
and  some  hope  of  the  highest  things.  The  pa- 
geant of  the  big  town — its  novelty,  its  promise, 
its  art,  its  activity — quickened  their  highest 
powers,  put  them  to  their  best  effort.  And  in 
all  great  enterprises  they  became  the  path- 
finders, like  their  fathers  in  the  primeval  forest. 

This  book  has  grown  out  of  such  enforced 
leisure  as  one  may  find  in  a  busy  life.  Chap- 
ters begun  in  the  publicity  of  a  Pullman  car 
have  been  finished  in  the  cheerless  solitude  of 
a  hotel  chamber.  Some  have  had  their  begin- 
ning in  a  sleepless  night  and  their  end  in  a  day 
of  bronchitis.  A  certain  pious  farmer  in  the 
north  country  when,  like  Agricola,  he  was 
about  to  die,  requested  the  doubtful  glory  of 
this  epitaph :  "  He  was  a  poor  sinner,  but  he 
done  his  best."  Save  for  the  fact  that  I  am  an 
excellent  sinner,  in  a  literary  sense,  the  words 
may  stand  for  all  the  apology  I  have  to  make. 

The  characters  were  mostly  men  and  women 
I  have  known  and  who  left  with  me  a  love  of 
my  kind  that  even  a  wide  experience  with 
knavery  and  misfortune  has  never  dissipated. 


Preface  vii 

For  my  knowledge  of  Mr.  Greeley  I  am  chiefly 
indebted  to  David  P.  Rhoades,  his  publisher,  to 
Philip  Fitzpatrick,  his  pressman,  to  the  files  of 
the  Tribune  and  to  many  books. 
New  York  City,  April  7,  1900. 


BOOK  ONE 


EBEN  HOLDEN 


CHAPTER  I 


Of  all  the  people  that  ever  went  west  that  ex- 
pedition was  the  most  remarkable. 

A  small  boy  in  a  big  basket  on  the  back  of  a 
jolly  old  man,  who  carried  a  cane  in  one  hand,  a 
rifle  in  the  other;  a  black  dog  serving  as  scout, 
skirmisher  and  rear  guard — that  was  the  size 
of  it.  They  were  the  survivors  of  a  ruined 
home  in  the  north  of  Vermont,  and  were  travel- 
ing far  into  the  valley  of  the  St.  Lawrence, 
but  with  no  particular  destination. 

Midsummer  had  passed  them  in  their  journey; 
their  clothes  were  covered  with  dust;  their  faces 
browning  in  the  hot  sun.  It  was  a  very  small 
boy  that  sat  inside  the  basket  and  clung  to  the 
rim,  his  tow  head  shaking  as  the  old  man 
walked.  He  saw  wonderful  things,  day  after 
day,  looking  down  at  the  green  fields  or  peer- 
ing into  the  gloomy  reaches  of  the  wood;  and 
he  talked  about  them. 


Eben  Holden 

"  Uncle  Eb — is  that  where  the  swifts  are?  " 
he  would  ask  often;  and  the  old  man  would 
answer,  "  No;  they  ain't  real  sassy  this  time 
o'  year.  They  lay  'round  in  the  deep  dingles 
every  day." 

Then  the  small  voice  would  sing  idly  or 
prattle  with  an  imaginary  being  that  had  a 
habit  of  peeking  over  the  edge  of  the  basket 
or  would  shout  a  greeting  to  some  bird  or  but- 
terfly and  ask  finally : 

"Tired,  Uncle  Eb?" 

Sometimes  the  old  gentleman  would  say 
"  not  very,"  and  keep  on,  looking  thoughtfully 
at  the  ground.  Then,  again,  he  would  stop 
and  mop  his  bald  head  with  a  big  red  handker- 
chief and  say,  a  little  tremor  of  irritation  in  his 
voice:  "Tired!  who  wouldn't  be  tired  with  a 
big  elephant  like  you  on  his  back  all  day?  I'd 
be  'shamed  o'  myself  t'  set  there  an'  let  an  old 
man  carry  me  from  Dan  to  Beersheba.  Git 
out  now  an'  shake  yer  legs." 

I  was  the  small  boy  and  I  remember  it  was 
always  a  great  relief  to  get  out  of  the  basket, 
and  having  run  ahead,  to  lie  in  the  grass  among 
the  wild  flowers,  and  jump  up  at  him  as  he 
came  along. 

Uncle  Eb  had  been  working  for  my  father 
five  years  before  I  was  born.     He  was  not  a 


Eben  Holden 

strong  man  and  had  never  been  able  to  carry 
the  wide  swath  of  the  other  help  in  the  fields, 
but  we  all  loved  him  for  his  kindness  and  his 
knack  of  story-telling.  He  was  a  bachelor 
who  came  over  the  mountain  from  Pleasant 
Valley,  a  little  bundle  of  clothes  on  his  shoul- 
der, and  bringing  a  name  that  enriched  the  no- 
menclature of  our  neighborhood.  It  was 
Eben  Holden. 

He  had  a  cheerful  temper  and  an  imagina- 
tion that  was  a  very  wilderness  of  oddities. 
Bears  and  panthers  growled  and  were  very  ter- 
rible in  that  strange  country.  He  had  in- 
vented an  animal  more  treacherous  than  any  in 
the  woods,  and  he  called  it  a  swift.  "  Sum- 
thin'  like  a  panther,"  he  described  the  look  of 
it — a  fearsome  creature  that  lay  in  the  edge  of 
the  woods  at  sundown  and  made  a  noise  like 
a  woman  crying,  to  lure  the  unwary.  It  would 
light  one's  eye  with  fear  to  hear  Uncle  Eb  lift 
his  voice  in  the  cry  of  the  swift.  Many  a  time 
in  the  twilight  when  the  bay  of  a  hound  or 
some  far  cry  came  faintly  through  the  wooded 
hills,  I  have  seen  him  lift  his  hand  and  bid  us 
hark.  And  when  we  had  listened  a  moment, 
our  eyes  wide  with  wonder,  he  would  turn  and 
say  in  a  low,  half  whispered  tone :  "  'S  a 
swift."       I  suppose  we  needed  more  the  fear  of 

3 


Eben  Holden 

God,  but  the  young  children  of  the  pioneer 
needed  also  the  fear  of  the  woods  or  they  would 
have  strayed  to  their  death  in  them. 

A  big  bass  viol,  taller  than  himself,  had  long 
been  the  solace  of  his  Sundays.  After  he  had 
shaved — a  ceremony  so  solemn  that  it  seemed  a 
rite  of  his  religion — that  sacred  viol  was  uncov- 
ered. He  carried  it  sometimes  to  the  back 
piazza  and  sometimes  to  the  barn,  where  the 
horses  shook  and  trembled  at  the  roaring  thun- 
der of  the  strings.  When  he  began  playing  we 
children  had  to  get  well  out  of  the  way,  and 
keep  our  distance.  I  remember  now  the  look 
of  him,  then — his  thin  face,  his  soft  black  eyes, 
his  long  nose,  the  suit  of  broadcloth,  the  stock 
and  standing  collar  and,  above  all,  the  solem- 
nity in  his  manner  when  that  big  devil  of  a 
thing  was  leaning  on  his  breast. 

As  to  his  playing  I  have  never  heard  a  more 
fearful  sound  in  any  time  of  peace  or  one  less 
creditable  to  a  Christian.  Week  days  he  was 
addicted  to  the  milder  sin  of  the  flute  and,  after 
chores,  if  there  were  no  one  to  talk  with  him,  he 
would  sit  long  and  pour  his  soul  into  that 
magic  bar  of  boxwood. 

Uncle  Eb  had  another  great  accomplish- 
ment. He  was  what  they  call  in  the  north 
country  "  a  natural  cooner."  After  nightfall, 
4 


Eben  Holden 

when  the  corn  was  ripening,  he  spoke  in  a 
whisper  and  had  his  ear  cocked  for  coons. 
But  he  loved  all  kinds  of  good  fun. 

So  this  man  had  a  boy  in  his  heart  and  a  boy 
in  his  basket  that  evening  we  left  the  old 
house.  My  father  and  mother  and  older 
brother  had  been  drowned  in  the  lake,  where 
they  had  gone  for  a  day  of  pleasure.  I  had  then 
a  small  understanding  of  my  loss,  but  I  have 
learned  since  that  the  farm  was  not  worth  the 
mortgage  and  that  everything  had  to  be  sold. 
Uncle  Eb  and  I — a  little  lad,  a  very  little  lad  of 
six — were  all  that  was  left  of  what  had  been  in 
that  home.  Some  were  for  sending  me  to  the 
county  house;  but  they  decided,  finally,  to  turn 
me  over  to  a  dissolute  uncle,  with  some  allow- 
ance for  my  keep.  Therein  Uncle  Eb  was  to 
be  reckoned  with.  He  had  set  his  heart  on 
keeping  me,  but  he  was  a  farm  hand  without 
any  home  or  visible  property  and  not,  there- 
fore, in  the  mind  of  the  authorities,  a  proper 
guardian.  He  had  me  with  him  in  the  old 
house,  and  the  very  night  he  heard  they  were 
coming  after  me  in  the  morning,  we  started  on 
our  journey.  I  remember  he  was  a  long  time 
tying  packages  of  bread  and  butter  and  tea  and 
boiled  eggs  to  the  rim  of  the  basket,  so  that 
they  hung  on  the  outside.  Then  he  put  a 
5 


Eben  Hoi  den 

woolen  shawl  and  an  oilcloth  blanket  on  the 
bottom,  pulled  the  straps  over  his  shoulders  and 
buckled  them,  standing  before  the  looking- 
glass,  and,  having  put  on  my  cap  and  coat, 
stood  me  on  the  table,  and  stooped  so  that  I 
could  climb  into  the  basket — a  pack  basket,  that 
he  had  used  in  hunting,  the  top  a  little  smaller 
than  the  bottom.  Once  in,  I  could  stand 
comfortably  or  sit  facing  sideways,  my  back 
and  knees  wedged  from  port  to  starboard. 
With  me  in  my  place  he  blew  out  the  lantern 
and  groped  his  way  to  the  road,  his  cane  in  one 
hand,  his  rifle  in  the  other.  Fred,  our  old  dog 
— a  black  shepherd,  with  tawny  points — came 
after  us.  Uncle  Eb  scolded  him  and  tried  to 
send  him  back,  but  I  plead  for  the  poor  crea- 
ture and  that  settled  it;  he  was  one  of  our 
party. 

"  Dunno  how  we'll  feed  him,"  said  Uncle 
Eb.  "  Our  own  mouths  are  big  enough  t' 
take  all  we  can  carry,  but  I  hain'  no  heart  t' 
leave  'im  all  'lone  there." 

I  was  old  for  my  age,  they  tell  me,  and  had 
a  serious  look  and  a  wise  way  of  talking,  for  a 
boy  so  young;  but  I  had  no  notion  of  what  lay 
before  or  behind  us. 

"  Now,    boy,    take   a   good   look  at  the  old 
house,"  I  remember  he  whispered  to  me  at  the 
6 


Eben  Holden 

gate  that  night.  "  Taint  likely  ye'll  ever  see 
it  ag'in.  Keep  quiet  now,"  he  added,  letting 
down  the  bars  at  the  foot  of  the  lane.  "  We're 
goin'  west  an'  we  mustn't  let  the  grass  grow 
under  us.  Got  t'  be  purty  spry  I  can  tell 
ye." 

It  was  quite  dark  and  he  felt  his  way  care- 
fully down  the  cow  paths  into  the  broad 
pasture.  With  every  step  I  kept  a  sharp  look- 
out for  swifts,  and  the  moon  shone  after  awhile, 
making  my  work  easier. 

I  had  to  hold  my  head  down,  presently,  when 
the  tall  brush  began  to  whip  the  basket  and  I 
heard  the  big  boots  of  Uncle  Eb  ripping  the 
briars.  Then  we  came  into  the  blackness  of 
the  thick  timber  and  I  could  hear  him  feeling 
his  way  over  the  dead  leaves  with  his  cane. 
I  got  down,  shortly,  and  walked  beside  him, 
holding  on  to  the  rifle  with  one  hand.  We 
stumbled,  often,  and  were  long  in  the  trail  be- 
fore we  could  see  the  moonlight  through  the 
tree  columns.  In  the  clearing  I  climbed  to  my 
seat  again  and  by  and  by  we  came  to  the  road 
where  my  companion  sat  down  resting  his  load 
on  a  boulder. 

"  Pretty  hot,  Uncle  Eb,  pretty  hot,"  he  said 
to  himself,  fanning  his  brow  with  that  old  felt 
hat  he  wore  everywhere.  "  We've  come  three 
7 


Eben  Holden 

mile  er  more  without  a  stop  an'  I  guess  we'd 
better  rest  a  jiffy." 

My  legs  ached  too,  and  I  was  getting  very 
sleepy.  I  remember  the  jolt  of  the  basket  as  he 
rose,  and  hearing  him  say,  "  Well,  Uncle  Eb,  I 
guess  we'd  better  be  goin'." 

The  elbow  that  held  my  head,  lying  on  the 
rim  of  the  basket,  was  already  numb;  but  the 
prickling  could  no  longer  rouse  me,  and  half 
dead  with  weariness,  I  fell  asleep.  Uncle  Eb 
has  told  me  since,  that  I  tumbled  out  of  the  bas- 
ket once,  and  that  he  had  a  time  of  it  getting  me 
in  again,  but  I  remember  nothing  more  of  that 
day's  history. 

When  I  woke  in  the  morning,  I  could  hear 
the  crackling  of  fire,  and  felt  very  warm  and 
cosy  wrapped  in  the  big  shawl.  I  got  a  cheery 
greeting  from  Uncle  Eb,  who  was  feeding  the 
fire  with  a  big  heap  of  sticks  that  he  had  piled 
together.  Old  Fred  was  licking  my  hands  with 
his  rough  tongue,  and  I  suppose  that  is  what 
waked  me.  Tea  was  steeping  in  the  little  pot 
that  hung  over  the  fire,  and  our  breakfast  of 
boiled  eggs  and  bread  and  butter  lay  on  a  paper 
beside  it.  I  remember  well  the  scene  of  our 
little  camp  that  morning.  We  had  come  to  a 
strange  country,  and  there  was  no  road  in  sight. 
A  wooded  hill  lay  back  of  us,  and,  just  before, 
8 


Eben  Holden 

ran  a  noisy  little  brook,  winding  between 
smooth  banks,  through  a  long  pasture  into  a 
dense  wood.  Behind  a  wall  on  the  opposite 
shore  a  great  field  of  rustling  corn  filled  a  broad 
valley  and  stood  higher  than  a  man's  head. 

While  I  went  to  wash  my  face  in  the  clear 
water  Uncle  Eb  was  husking  some  ears  of  corn 
that  he  took  out  of  his  pocket,  and  had  them 
roasting  over  the  fire  in  a  moment.  We  ate 
heartily,  giving  Fred  two  big  slices  of  bread 
and  butter,  packing  up  with  enough  remain- 
ing for  another  day.  Breakfast  over  we 
doused  the  fire  and  Uncle  Eb  put  on  his  basket. 
He  made  after  a  squirrel,  presently,  with  old 
Fred,  and  brought  him  down  out  of  a  tree  by 
hurling  stones  at  him  and  then  the  faithful 
follower  of  our  camp  got  a  bit  of  meat  for  his 
breakfast.  We  climbed  the  wall,  as  he  ate,  and 
buried  ourselves  in  the  deep  corn.  The  fra- 
grant, silky  tassels  brushed  my  face  and  the 
corn  hissed  at  our  intrusion,  crossing  its  green 
sabres  in  our  path.  Far  in  the  field  my  com- 
panion heaped  a  little  of  the  soft  earth  for  a  pil- 
low, spread  the  oil  cloth  between  rows  and,  as 
we  lay  down,  drew  the  big  shawl  over  us.  Uncle 
Eb  was  tired  after  the  toil  of  that  night  and 
went  asleep  almost  as  soon  as  he  was  down. 
Before  I  dropped  off  Fred  came  and  licked  my 
9 


Eben  Holden 

face  and  stepped  over  me,  his  tail  wagging  for 
leave,  and  curled  upon  the  shawl  at  my  feet.  I 
could  see  no  sky  in  that  gloomy  green  aisle  of 
corn.  This  going  to  bed  in  the  morning  seemed 
a  foolish  business  to  me  that  day  and  I  lay  a 
long  time  looking  up  at  the  rustling  canopy 
overhead.  I  remember  listening  to  the  waves 
that  came  whispering  out  of  the  further  field, 
nearer  and  nearer,  until  they  swept  over  us 
with  a  roaring  swash  of  leaves,  like  that  of 
water  flooding  among  rocks,  as  I  have  heard 
it  often.  A  twinge  of  homesickness  came  to  me 
and  the  snoring  of  Uncle  Eb  gave  me  no  com- 
fort. I  remember  covering  my  head  and  cry- 
ing softly  as  I  thought  of  those  who  had  gone 
away  and  whom  I  was  to  meet  in  a  far  country, 
called  Heaven,  whither  we  were  going.  I  for- 
got my  sorrow,  finally,  in  sleep.  When  I 
awoke  it  had  grown  dusk  under  the  corn.  I 
felt  for  Uncle  Eb  and  he  was  gone.  Then  I 
called  to  him. 

"  Hush,  boy !  lie  low,"  he  whispered,  bend- 
ing over  me,  a  sharp  look  in  his  eye.  "  'Fraid 
they're  after  us." 

He  sat  kneeling  beside  me,  holding  Fred  by 
the  collar  and  listening.  I  could  hear  voices, 
the  rustle  of  the  corn  and  the  tramp  of  feet  near 
by.     It  was  thundering  in  the  distance — that 


Eben  Holden 

heavy,  shaking  thunder  that  seems  to  take  hold 
of  the  earth,  and  there  were  sounds  in  the  corn 
like  the  drawing  of  sabres  and  the  rush  of  many 
feet.  The  noisy  thunder  clouds  came  nearer 
and  the  voices  that  had  made  us  tremble  were 
no  longer  heard.  Uncle  Eb  began  to  fasten  the 
oil  blanket  to  the  stalks  of  corn  for  a  shelter. 
The  rain  came  roaring  over  us.  The  sound  of 
it  was  like  that  of  a  host  of  cavalry  coming  at 
a  gallop.  We  lay  bracing  the  stalks,  the 
blanket  tied  above  us  and  were  quite  dry  for  a 
time.  The  rain  rattled  in  the  sounding  sheaves 
and  then  came  flooding  down  the  steep  gutters. 
Above  us  beam  and  rafter  creaked,  swaying, 
and  showing  glimpses  of  the  dark  sky.  The 
rain  passed — we  could  hear  the  last  battalion 
leaving  the  field — and  then  the  tumult  ended 
as  suddenly  as  it  began.  The  corn  trembled  a 
few  moments  and  hushed  to  a  faint  whisper. 
Then  we  could  hear  only  the  drip  of  rain  drops 
leaking  through  the  green  roof.  It  was  dark 
under  the  corn. 


ii 


CHAPTER  II 

We  heard  no  more  of  the  voices.  Uncle  Eb 
had  brought  an  armful  of  wood,  and  some 
water  in  the  tea  pot,  while  I  was  sleeping.  As 
soon  as  the  rain  had  passed  he  stood  listening 
awhile  and  shortly  opened  his  knife  and  made 
a  little  clearing  in  the  corn  by  cutting  a  few 
hills. 

"  We've  got  to  do  it,"  he  said,  "  er  we  can't 
take  any  comfort,  an'  the  man  tol'  me  I  could 
have  all  the  corn  I  wanted." 

"  Did  you  see  him,  Uncle  Eb?  "  I  remember 
asking. 

"  Yes,"  he  answered,  whittling  in  the  dark. 
"  I  saw  him  when  I  went  out  for  the  water  an' 
it  was  he  tol'  me  they  were  after  us." 

He  took  a  look  at  the  sky  after  a  while,  and, 
remarking  that  he  guessed  they  couldn't  see 
his  smoke  now,  began  to  kindle  the  fire.  As  it 
burned  up  he  stuck  two  crotches  and  hung  his 
tea  pot  on  a  stick,  that  lay  in  them,  so  it  took 
the  heat  of  the  flame,  as  I  had  seen  him  do  in 
the  morning.  Our  grotto,  in  the  corn,  was 
shortly  as  cheerful  as  any  room  in  a  palace, 

12 


Eben  Holden 

and  our  fire  sent  its  light  into  the  long  aisles 
that  opened  opposite,  and  nobody  could  see  the 
warm  glow  of  it  but  ourselves. 

"  We'll  hev  our  supper,"  saidUncle  Eb,  as 
he  opened  a  paper  and  spread  out  the  eggs  and 
bread  and  butter  and  crackers.  "  We'll  jest 
hev  our  supper  an'  by  'n  by  when  everyone's 
abed  we'll  make  tracks  in  the  dirt,  I  can  tell  ye." 

Our  supper  over,  Uncle  Eb  let  me  look  at  his 
tobacco-box — a  shiny  thing  of  German  silver 
that  always  seemed  to  snap  out  a  quick  fare- 
well to  me  before  it  dove  into  his  pocket.  He 
was  very  cheerful  and  communicative,  and 
joked  a  good  deal  as  we  lay  there  waiting  in 
the  fire  light.  I  got  some  further  acquaintance 
with  the  swift,  learning  among  other  things 
that  it  had  no  appetite  for  the  pure  in  heart. 

"Why  not?"  I  inquired. 

"  Well,"  said  Uncle  Eb,  "  it's  like  this :  the 
meaner  the  boy,  the  sweeter  the  meat." 

He  sang  an  old  song  as  he  sat  by  the  fire, 
with  a  whistled  interlude  between  lines,  and 
the  swing  of  it,  even  now,  carries  me  back  to 
that  far  day  in  the  fields.  I  lay  with  my  head 
in  his  lap  while  he  was  singing. 

Years  after,  when  I  could  have  carried  him 
on  my  back,  he  wrote  down  for  me  the  words 
of  the  old  song.     Here  they  are,  about  as  he 
r3 


Eben  Holden 

sang  them,  although  there  are  evidences  of  re- 
pair, in  certain  lines,  to  supply  the  loss  of 
phrases  that  had  dropped  out  of  his  memory : 


I    was  go -in'   to     Sa- leni  one  bright  summer  day, 

-#*-l— I* ; 1— • (M 

-+-. y — k •- ^ — I 1-. 


(whistle.) 


met     a  young  maiden  a     go  -  in'  my  way. Oh  !  my 


& 


£+1 


I 


fal  -  low,    fad-del -ing,fal- low,  fad -del  a  -  way. 

I  was  goin'  t'  Salem  one  bright  summer  day, 
When  I  met  a  fair  maiden  a  goin'  my  way; 
O,  my  fallow,  faddeling  fallow,  faddel  away. 

An'  many  a  time  I  had  seen  her  before, 
But  I  never  dare  tell  'er  the  love  thet  I  bore. 
O,  my  fallow,  etc. 

"Oh,  where  are  you  goin'  my  purty  fair  maid?" 
"  O,  sir,  I  am  goin'  t'  Salem,"  she  said. 
O,  my  fallow,  etc. 

"  O,  why  are  ye  goin'  so  far  in  a  day? 

Fer  warm  is  the  weather  and  long  is  the  way." 

O,  my  fallow,  etc. 


Eben  Holden 

"  O,  sir  I've  forgotten,  I  hev,  I  declare, 

But  it's  nothin'  to  eat  an'  its  nothin'  to  wear." 

O,  my  fallow,  etc. 

"  Oho !   then  I  hev  it,  ye  purty  young  miss ! 
I'll  bet  it  is  only  three  words  an'  a  kiss." 
O,  my  fallow,  etc. 

"  Young  woman,  young  woman,  O  how  will  it  dew 
If  I  go  see  yer  lover  'n  bring  'em  t'  you?  " 
O,  my  fallow,  etc. 

"  'S  a  very  long  journey,"  says  she,  "  I  am  told, 
An'  before  ye  got  back,  they  would  surely  be  cold.'1 
O,  my  fallow,  etc. 

"  I  hev  'em  right  with  me,  I  vum  an'  I  vow, 
An'  if  you  don't  object  I'll  deliver  'em  now." 
O,  my  fallow,  etc. 

She  laid  her  fair  head  all  onto  my  breast, 

An'  ye  wouldn't  know  more  if  I  tol'  ye  the  rest. 

O,  my  fallow,  etc. 

I  went  asleep  after  awhile  in  spite  of  all,  right 
in  the  middle  of  a  story.  The  droning  voice  of 
Uncle  Eb  and  the  feel  of  his  hand  upon  my 
forehead  called  me  back,  blinking,  once  or 
twice,  but  not  for  long.  The  fire  was  gone  down 
to  a  few  embers  when  Uncle  Eb  woke  me  and 
the  grotto  was  lit  only  by  a  sprinkle  of  moon- 
light from  above. 

"  Mos'  twelve  o'clock,"  he  whispered.  "  Bet- 
ter be  off." 

The  basket  was  on  his  back  and  he  was  all 

*5 


Eben  Holden 

ready.  I  followed  him  through  the  long  aisle 
of  corn,  clinging  to  the  tail  of  his  coat.  The 
golden  lantern  of  the  moon  hung  near  the 
zenith  and  when  we  came  out  in  the  open  we 
could  see  into  the  far  fields.  I  climbed  into  my 
basket  at  the  wall  and  as  Uncle  Eb  carried  me 
over  the  brook,  stopping  on  a  flat  rock  midway 
to  take  a  drink,  I  could  see  the  sky  in  the  water, 
and  it  seemed  as  if  a  misstep  would  have 
tumbled  me  into  the  moon. 

"  Hear  the  crickets  holler,"  said  Uncle  Eb, 
as  he  followed  the  bank  up  into  the  open  past- 
ure. 

"What  makes  'em  holler?"  I  asked. 

"  O,  they're  jes'  filin'  their  saws  an'  thinkin'. 
Mebbe  tellin'  o'  what's  happened  'em.  Been  a 
hard  day  fer  them  little  folks.  Terrible  flood 
in  their  country.  Every  one  on  em  hed  t'  git 
up  a  steeple  quick  's  he  could  er  be  drownded. 
They  hev  their  troubles  an'  they  talk  'bout  'em, 
too." 

"What  do  they  file  their  saws  for?"  I  in- 
quired. 

"  Well,  ye  know,"  said  he,  "  where  they  live 
the  timber's  thick  an'  they  hev  hard  work 
clearin'  t'  mek  a  home." 

I  was  getting  too  sleepy  for  further  talk.  He 
made  his  way  from  field  to  field,  stopping  some- 
16 


Eben  Holden 

times  to  look  off  at  the  distant  mountains  and 
then  at  the  sky  or  to  whack  the  dry  stalks  of 
mullen  with  his  cane.  I  remember  he  let  down 
some  bars  after  a  long  walk  and  stepped  into  a 
smooth  roadway.  He  stood  resting  a  little 
while,  his  basket  on  the  top  bar,  and  then  the 
moon  that  I  had  been  watching  went  down  be- 
hind the  broad  rim  of  his  hat  and  I  fell  into 
utter  forgetfulness.  My  eyes  opened  on  a 
lovely  scene  at  daylight.  Uncle  Eb  had  laid  me 
on  a  mossy  knoll  in  a  bit  of  timber  and  through 
an  opening  right  in  front  of  us  I  could  see  a 
broad  level  of  shining  water,  and  the  great 
green  mountain  on  the  further  shore  seemed  to 
be  up  to  its  belly  in  the  sea. 

"Hello  there!"  said  Uncle  Eb;  "here  we 
are  at  Lake  Champlain." 

I  could  hear  the  fire  crackling  and  smell  the 
odor  of  steeping  tea. 

"  Ye  flopped  'round  like  a  fish  in  thet 
basket,"  said  Uncle  Eb.  "  'Guess  ye  must  a 
been  dreamin'  o'  bears.  Jumped  so  ye  scairt 
me.  Didn't  know  but  I  had  a  wil'  cat  on  my 
shoulders." 

Uncle  Eb  had  taken  a  fish  line  out  of  his 
pocket  and  was  tying  it  to  a  rude  pole  that  he 
had  cut  and  trimmed  with  his  jack  knife. 

"  I've  found  some  craw  fish  here,"  he  said, 
17 


Eben  Holden 

"  an'  I'm  goin'  t'  try  fer  a  bite  on  the  p'int  o' 
rocks  there." 

"Goin'  t'  git  some  fish,  Uncle  Eb?"  I  in- 
quired. 

"  Wouldn't  say't  I  was,  er  wouldn't  say't  I 
wasn't,"  he  answered.     "  Jes  goin'  t'  try." 

Uncle  Eb  was  always  careful  not  to  commit 
himself  on  a  doubtful  point.  He  had  fixed  his 
hook  and  sinker  in  a  moment  and  then  we  went 
out  on  a  rocky  point  near  by  and  threw  off  into 
the  deep  water.  Suddenly  Uncle  Eb  gave  a 
jerk  that  brought  a  groan  out  of  him  and  then 
let  his  hook  go  down  again,  his  hands  trem- 
bling, his  face  severe. 

"  By  mighty !  Uncle  Eb,"  he  muttered  to 
himself,  "  I  thought  we  hed  him  thet  time." 

He  jerked  again  presently,  and  then  I  could 
see  a  tug  on  the  line  that  made  me  jump.  A  big 
fish  came  thrashing  into  the  air  in  a  minute. 
He  tried  to  swing  it  ashore,  but  the  pole  bent 
and  the  fish  got  a  fresh  hold  of  the  water  and 
took  the  end  of  the  pole  under.  Uncle  Eb  gave 
it  a  lift  then  that  brought  it  ashore  and  a  good 
bit  of  water  with  it.  I  remember  how  the  fish 
slapped  me  with  its  wet  tail  and  sprinkled  my 
face  shaking  itself  between  my  boots.  It  was 
a  big  bass  and  in  a  little  while  we  had  three  of 
them.  Uncle  Eb  dressed  them  and  laid  them 
18 


Eben   Holden 

over  the  fire  on  a  gridiron  of  green  birch,  salt- 
ing them  as  they  cooked.  I  remember  they  went 
with  a  fine  relish  and  the  last  of  our  eggs  and 
bread  and  butter  went  with  them. 

Our  breakfast  over,  Uncle  Eb  made  me 
promise  to  stay  with  Fred  and  the  basket  while 
he  went  away  to  find  a  man  who  could  row  us 
across.  In  about  an  hour  I  heard  a  boat  com- 
ing and  the  dog  and  I  went  out  on  die  point  of 
rocks  where  we  saw  Uncle  Eb  and  another  man, 
heading  for  us,  half  over  the  cove.  The  bow 
bumped  the  rocks  beneath  us  in  a  minute.  Then 
the  stranger  dropped  his  oars  and  stood  staring 
at  me  and  the  dog. 

"  Say,  mister,"  said  he  presently,  "  can't  go 
no  further.  There's  a  reward  offered  fer  you 
an'  thet  boy." 

Uncle  Eb  called  him  aside  and  was  talking  to 
him  a  long  time. 

I  never  knew  what  was  said,  but  they  came 
at  last  and  took  us  into  the  boat  and  the 
stranger  was  very  friendly. 

When  we  had  come  near  the  landing  on  the 
"  York  State  "  side,  I  remember  he  gave  us  our 
bearings. 

"  Keep  t'  the  woods,"  he  said  "  'till  you're 
out  o'  harm's  way.  Don't  go  near  the  stage 
road  fer  a  while.  Ye'll  find  a  store  a  little  way 
19 


Eben  Holden 

up  the  mountain.  Git  yer  provisions  there  an' 
about  eighty  rod  further  ye'll  strike  the  trail. 
It'll  take  ye  over  the  mountain  north  an'  t'  Par- 
adise road.  Then  take  the  white  church  on  yer 
right  shoulder  an'  go  straight  west." 

I  would  not  have  remembered  it  so  well  but 
for  the  fact  that  Uncle  Eb  wrote  it  all  down  in 
his  account  book  and  that  has  helped  me  over 
many  a  slippery  place  in  my  memory  of  those 
events.  At  the  store  we  got  some  crackers  and 
cheese,  tea  and  coffee,  dried  beef  and  herring, 
a  bit  of  honey  and  a  loaf  of  bread  that  was 
sliced  and  buttered  before  it  was  done  up.  We 
were  off  in  the  woods  by  nine  o'clock,  accord- 
ing to  Uncle  Eb's  diary,  and  I  remember  the 
trail  led  us  into  thick  brush  where  I  had  to  get 
out  and  walk  a  long  way.  It  was  smooth  un- 
der foot,  however,  and  at  noon  we  came  to  a 
slash  in  the  timber,  full  of  briars  that  were  all 
aglow  with  big  blackberries.  We  filled  our 
hats  with  them  and  Uncle  Eb  found  a  spring, 
beside  which  we  built  a  fire  and  had  a  memor- 
able meal  that  made  me  glad  of  my  hunger. 

Then  we  spread  the  oilcloth  and  lay  down 
for  another  sleep.  We  could  see  the  glow  of 
the  setting  sun  through  the  tree  tops  when  wp 
woke,  and  began  our  packing. 


Eben  Holden 

"  We'll  hev  t'  hurry,"  said  Uncle  Eb,  "  er 
we'll  never  git  out  o'  the  woods  t'night.  'S 
'bout  six  mile  er  more  t'  Paradise  road,  es  I 
mek  it.  Come,  yer  slower  n  a  toad  in  a  tar 
barrel." 

We  hurried  off  on  the  trail  and  I  remember 
Fred  looked  very  crestfallen  with  two  big 
packages  tied  to  his  collar.  He  delayed  a  bit 
by  trying  to  shake  them  off,  but  Uncle  Eb  gave 
him  a  sharp  word  or  two  and  then  he  walked 
along  very  thoughtfully.  Uncle  Eb  was  a  little 
out  of  patience  that  evening,  and  I  thought  he 
bore  down  too  harshly  in  his  rebuke  of  the  old 
dog. 

"  You  shif'less  cuss,"  he  said  to  him,  "  ye'd 
jes'  dew  nothin'  but  chase  squirrels  an'  let  me 
break  my  back  t'  carry  yer  dinner.' 

It  was  glooming  fast  in  the  thick  timber, 
and  Uncle  Eb  almost  ran  with  me  while  the 
way  was  plain.  The  last  ringing  note  of  the 
wood  thrush  had  died  away  and  in  a  little  while 
it  was  so  dark  I  could  distinguish  nothing  but 
the  looming  mass  of  tree  trunks. 

He  stopped  suddenly  and  strained  his  eyes 
in  the  dark.  Then  he  whistled  a  sharp,  sliding 
note,  and  the  sound  of  it  gave  me  some  hint  of 
his  trouble. 


21 


Eben   Holden 

"  Git  clown,  Willie,"  said  he,  "  an'  tek  my 
hand.  I'm  'fraid  we're  lost  here  'n  the  big 
woods." 

We  groped  about  for  a  minute,  trying  to  find 
the  trail. 

"  No  use,"  he  said  presently,  "  we'll  hev  t' 
stop  right  here.  Oughter  known  better  'n  t' 
come  through  s'  near  sundown.  Guess  it  was 
more  'n  anybody  could  do." 

He  built  a  fire  and  began  to  lay  out  a  supper 
for  us  then,  while  Fred  sat  down  by  me  to  be 
relieved  of  his  bundles.  Our  supper  was  rather 
dry,  for  we  had  no  water,  but  it  was  only  two 
hours  since  we  left  the  spring,  so  we  were  not 
suffering  yet.  Uncle  Eb  took  out  of  the  fire 
a  burning  brand  of  pine  and  went  away  into 
the  gloomy  woods,  holding  it  above  his  head, 
while  Fred  and  I  sat  by  the  fire. 

"  'S  lucky  we  didn't  go  no  further,"  he  said, 
as  he  came  in  after  a  few  minutes.  "  There's 
a  big  prec'pice  over  yender.  Dunno  how  deep 
't  is.     Guess  we'd  a  found  out  purty  soon." 

He  cut  some  boughs  of  hemlock,  growing 
near  us,  and  spread  them  in  a  little  hollow. 
That  done,  we  covered  them  with  the  oilcloth, 
and  sat  down  comfortably  by  the  fire.  Uncle 
Eb  had  a  serious  look  and  was  not  inclined  to 
talk  or  story  telling.  Before  turning  in  he  asked 


Eben  Holden 

me  to  kneel  and  say  my  prayer  as  I  had  done 
every  evening  at  the  feet  of  my  mother.  I  re- 
member, clearly,  kneeling  before  my  old  com- 
panion and  hearing  the  echo  of  my  small  voice 
there  in  the  dark  and  lonely  woods. 

I  remember  too,  and  even  more  clearly,  how 
he  bent  his  head  and  covered  his  eyes  in  that 
brief  moment.  I  had  a  great  dread  of  dark- 
ness and  imagined  much  evil  of  the  forest,  but 
somehow  I  had  no  fear  if  he  were  near  me. 
When  we  had  fixed  the  fire  and  lain  down  for 
the  night  on  the  fragrant  hemlock  and  covered 
ourselves  with  the  shawl,  Uncle  Eb  lay  on  one 
side  of  me  and  old  Fred  on  the  other,  so  I  felt 
secure  indeed.  The  night  had  many  voices 
there  in  the  deep  wood.  Away  in  the  distance 
I  could  hear  a  strange,  wild  cry,  and  I  asked 
what  it  was  and  Uncle  Eb  whispered  back,  "  's 
a  loon."  Down  the  side  of  the  mountain  a 
shrill  bark  rang  in  the  timber  and  that  was  a 
fox,  according  to  my  patient  oracle.  Anon  we 
heard  the  crash  and  thunder  of  a  falling  tree 
and  a  murmur  that  followed  in  the  wake  of  the 
last  echo. 

"  Big  tree  fallin',"  said  Uncle  Eb,  as  he  lay 

gaping.     "  It  has  t'  break  a  way  t'  the  ground 

an'  it  must  hurt.    Did  ye  notice  how  the  woods 

tremble?     If  we  was  up  above  them  we  could 

23 


Eben  Holden 

see  the  hole  thet  tree  hed  made.  Jes'  like  an 
open  grave  'till  the  others  hev  filled  it  with 
their  tops." 

My  ears  had  gone  deaf  with  drowsiness 
when  a  quick  stir  in  the  body  of  Uncle  Eb 
brought  me  back  to  my  senses.  He  was  up  on 
his  elbow  listening  and  the  firelight  had  sunk 
to  a  glimmer.  Fred  lay  shivering  and  growl- 
ing beside  me.     I  could  hear  no  other  sound. 

"  Be  still,"  said  Uncle  Eb,  as  he  boxed  the 
dog's  ears.  Then  he  rose  and  began  to  stir  the 
fire  and  lay  on  more  wood.  As  the  flame 
leaped  and  threw  its  light  into  the  tree  tops  a 
shrill  cry,  like  the  scream  of  a  frightened 
woman,  only  louder  and  more  terrible  to  hear, 
brought  me  to  my  feet,  crying.  I  knew  the 
source  of  it  was  near  us  and  ran  to  Uncle  Eb 
in  a  fearful  panic. 

"  Hush,  boy,"  said  he  as  it  died  away  and 
went  echoing  in  the  far  forest.  "  I'll  take  care 
o'  you.  Don't  be  scairt.  He's  more  'fraid 
uv  us  than  we  are  o'  him.  He's  makin'  off 
now." 

We  heard  then  a  great  crackling  of  dead 
brush  on  the  mountain  above  us.  It  grew 
fainter  as  we  listened.  In  a  little  while 
the  woods  were  silent. 


24 


Eben   Holden 

"  It's  the  ol'  man  o'  the  woods,"  said  Uncle 
Eb.    "  E's  out  takin'  a  walk." 

"  Will  he  hurt  folks?  "  I  inquired. 

"  Tow !  "  he  answered,  "  jest  as  harmless  as 
a  kitten." 


25 


CHAPTER  III 

Naturally  there  were  a  good  many  things 
I  wanted  to  know  about  "  the  ol'  man  o'  the 
woods,"  but  Uncle  Eb  would  take  no  part  in 
any  further  conversation. 

So  I  had  to  lie  down  beside  him  again  and 
think  out  the  problem  as  best  I  could.  My  mind 
was  never  more  acutely  conscious  and  it  gath- 
ered many  strange  impressions,  wandering  in 
the  kingdom  of  Fear,  as  I  looked  up  at  the  tree 
tops.  Uncle  Eb  had  built  a  furious  fire  and  the 
warmth  of  it  made  me  sleepy  at  last.  Both  he 
and  old  Fred  had  been  snoring  a  long  time 
when  I  ceased  to  hear  them.  Uncle  Eb  woke 
me  at  daylight,  in  the  morning,  and  said  we 
must  be  off  to  find  the  trail.  He  left  me  by  the 
fire  a  little  while  and  went  looking  on  all  sides 
and  came  back  no  wiser.  We  were  both 
thirsty  and  started  off  on  rough  footing,  with- 
out stopping  to  cat.  We  climbed  and  crawled 
for  hours,  it  seemed  to  me,  and  everywhere  the 
fallen  tree  trunks  were  heaped  in  our  way. 
Uncle  Eb  sat  down  on  one  of  them  awhile  to 
rest. 

26 


Eben  Holden 

"  Like  the  bones  o'  the  dead,"  said  he,  as  he 
took  a  chew  of  tobacco  and  picked  at  the  rotten 
skeleton  of  a  fallen  tree.  We  were  both  pretty 
well  out  of  breath  and  of  hope  also,  if  I  remem- 
ber rightly,  when  we  rested  again  under  the 
low  hanging  boughs  of  a  basswood  for  a  bite 
of  luncheon.  Uncle  Eb  opened  the  little  box 
of  honey  and  spread  some  of  it  on  our  bread 
and  butter.  In  a  moment  »I  noticed  that  half 
a  dozen  bees  had  lit  in  the  open  box. 

"Lord  Harry!  here's  honey  bees,"  said  he, 
as  he  covered  the  box  so  as  to  keep  them  in,  and 
tumbled  everything  else  into  the  basket.  "  Make 
haste  now,  Willie,  and  follow  me  with  all  yer 
might,"  he  added. 

In  a  minute  he  let  out  one  of  the  bees,  and 
started  running  in  the  direction  it  flew.  It  went 
but  a  few  feet  and  then  rose  into  the  tree  top. 

"  He's  goin'  t'  git  up  into  the  open  air,"  said 
Uncle  Eb.  "  But  I've  got  his  bearins'  an'  I 
guess  he  knows  the  way  all  right." 

We  took  the  direction  indicated  for  a  few 
minutes  and  then  Uncle  Eb  let  out  another 
prisoner.  The  bee  flew  off"  a  little  way  and  then 
rose  in  a  slanting  course  to  the  tree  tops.  He 
showed  us,  however,  that  we  were  looking  the 
right  way. 

"  Them  little  fellers  hev  got  a  good  com- 


Eben  Holden 

pass,"  said  Uncle  Eb,  as  we  followed  the  line 
of  the  bees.  "  It  p'ints  home  ev'ry  time,  an' 
never  makes  a  mistake." 

We  went  further  this  time  before  releasing 
another.  He  showed  us  that  we  had  borne  out 
of  our  course  a  little  and  as  we  turned  to  fol- 
low there  were  half  a  dozen  bees  flying  around 
the  box,  as  if  begging  for  admission. 

"  Here  they  are  back  agin,"  said  Uncle  Eb, 
"  an'  they've  told  a  lot  o'  their  cronies  'bout  the 
man  an'  the  boy  with  honey." 

At  length  one  of  them  flew  over  our  heads 
and  back  in  the  direction  we  had  come  from. 

"  Ah,  ha,'  said  Uncle  Eb,  "  it's  a  bee  tree  an' 
we've  passed  it,  but  I'm  goin'  t'  keep  lettin' 
'em  in  an'  out.  Never  heard  uv  a  swarm  o'  bees 
goin'  fur  away  an'  so  we  mus'  be  near  the 
clearin'." 

In  a  little  while  we  let  one  go  that  took  a 
road  of  its  own.  The  others  had  gone  back 
over  our  heads;  this  one  bore  off  to  the  right 
in  front  of  us,  and  we  followed.  I  was  riding 
in  the  basket  and  was  first  to  see  the  light  of 
the  open  through  the  tree  tops.  But  I  didn't 
know  what  it  meant  until  I  heard  the  hearty 
"  hurrah  "  of  Uncle  Eb. 

We  had  come  to  smooth  footing  in  a  grove 
of  maples  and  the  clean  trunks  of  the  trees 
28 


Eben  Holden 

stood  up  as  straight  as  a  granite  column. 
Presently  we  came  out  upon  wide  fields  of  corn 
and  clover,  and  as  we  looked  back  upon  the 
grove  it  had  a  rounded  front  and  I  think  of  it 
now  as  the  vestibule  of  the  great  forest. 

"  It's  a  reg'lar  big  tomb,"  said  Uncle  Eb, 
looking  back  over  his  shoulder  into  the  gloomy 
cavern  of  the  woods. 

We  could  see  a  log  house  in  the  clearing, 
and  we  made  for  it  as  fast  as  our  legs  would 
carry  us.  We  had  a  mighty  thirst  and  when 
we  came  to  a  little  brook  in  the  meadow  we  laid 
down  and  drank  and  drank  until  we  were  fairly 
grunting  with  fullness.  Then  we  filled  our 
teapot  and  went  on.  Men  were  reaping  with 
their  cradles  in  a  field  of  grain  and,  as  we  neared 
the  log  house,  a  woman  came  out  in  the  door- 
yard  and,  lifting  a  shell  to  her  lips,  blew  a  blast 
that  rushed  over  the  clearing  and  rang  in  the 
woods  beyond  it.  A  loud  halloo  came  back 
from   the  men. 

A  small  dog  rushed  out  at  Fred,  barking, 
and,  I  suppose,  with  some  lack  of  respect,  for 
the  old  dog  laid  hold  of  him  in  a  violent  temper 
and  sent  him  away  yelping.  We  must  have  pre- 
sented an  evil  aspect,  for  our  clothes  were  torn 
and  we  were  both  limping  with  fatigue.  The 
woman  had  a  kindly  face  and,  after  looking  at 
29 


Eben  Holden 

us  a  moment,  came  and  stooped  before  me  and 
held  my  small  face  in  her  hands  turning  it  so 
she  could  look  into  my  eyes. 

"  You  poor  little  critter,"  said  she,  "  where 
you  goin'  ?  " 

Uncle  Eb  told  her  something  about  my  father 
and  mother  being  dead  and  our  going  west. 
Then  she  hugged  and  kissed  me  and  made  me 
very  miserable,  I  remember,  wetting  my  face 
with  her  tears,  that  were  quite  beyond  my  com- 
prehension. 

"  Jethro,"  said  she,  as  the  men  came  into  the 
yard,  "  I  want  ye  t'  look  at  this  boy.  Did  ye 
ever  see  such  a  cunnin'  little  critter?  Jes'  look 
at  them  bright  eyes !  "  and  then  she  held  me  to 
her  breast  and  nearly  smothered  me  and  began 
to  hum  a  bit  of  an  old  song. 

"  Yer  full  o'  mother  love,"  said  her  husband, 
as  he  sat  down  on  the  grass  a  moment.  "  Lost 
her  only  baby,  an'  the  good  Lord  has  sent  no 
other.  I  swan,  he  has  got  purty  eyes.  Jes' 
as  blue  as  a  May  flower.  Aint  ye  hungry? 
Come  right  in,  both  o'  ye,  an'  set  down  t'  the 
table  with  us." 

They  made  room  for  us  and  we  sat  down  be- 
tween the  bare  elbows  of  the  hired  men.  I  re- 
member my  eyes  came  only  to  the  top  of  the 
table.  So  the  good  woman  brought  the  family 
3° 


Eben   Holden 

Bible  and  sitting  on  that  firm  foundation  I  ate 
my  dinner  of  salt  pork  and  potatoes  and  milk 
gravy — a  diet  as  grateful  as  it  was  familiar  to 
my  taste. 

"  Orphan,  eh?  "  said  the  man  of  the  house, 
looking  down  at  me. 

"  Orphan,"  Uncle  Eb  answered,  nodding  his 
head. 

"God  fearin'  folks?" 

"  Best  in  the  world,"  said  Uncle  Eb. 

"Want  t'  bind  'im  out?"  the  man  asked. 

"  Couldn't  spare  'im,"  said  Uncle  Eb,  decis- 
ively. 

"  Where  ye  goin'  ?  " 

Uncle  Eb  hesitated,  groping  for  an  answer, 
I  suppose,  that  would  do  no  violence  to  our 
mutual  understanding. 

"  Goin'  t'  heaven,"  I  ventured  to  say  pres- 
ently— an  answer  that  gave  rise  to  conflicting 
emotions  at  the  table. 

"  That's  right,"  said  Uncle  Eb,  turning  to 
me  and  patting  my  head.  "  We're  on  the  road 
t'  .heaven,  I  hope,  an'  ye'll  see  it  some  day,  sar- 
tin  sure,  if  ye  keep  in  the  straight  road  and  be 
a  good  boy.  ' 

After  dinner  the  good  woman  took  off  my 
clothes  and  put  me  in  bed  while  she  mended 
them.  I  went  asleep  then  and  did  not  awake 
31 


Eben   Holden 

for  a  long  time.  When  I  got  up  at  last  she 
brought  a  big  basin  of  water  and  washed  me 
with  such  motherly  tenderness  in  voice  and 
manner  that  I  have  never  forgotten  it.  Uncle 
Eb  lay  sleeping  on  the  lounge  and  when  she  had 
finished  dressing  me,  Fred  and  I  went  out  to 
play  in  the  garden.  It  was  supper  time  in  a 
little  while  and  then,  again,  the  woman  winded 
the  shell  and  the  men  came  up  from  the  field. 
We  sat  down  to  eat  with  them,  as  we  had  done 
at  noon,  and  Uncle  Eb  consented  to  spend  the 
night  after  some  urging.  He  helped  them  with 
the  milking,  and  as  I  stood  beside  him  shot  a 
jet  of  the  warm  white  flood  into  my  mouth, 
that  tickled  it  so  I  ran  away  laughing.  The 
milking  done,  I  sat  on  Uncle  Eb's  knee  in  the 
door-yard  with  all  the  rest  of  that  household, 
hearing  many  tales  of  the  wilderness,  and  of 
robbery  and  murder  on  Paradise  road.  I  got 
the  impression  that  it  was  a  country  of  unex- 
ampled wickedness  and  ferocity  in  men  and 
animals.  One  man  told  about  the  ghost  of 
Burnt  Bridge:  how  the  bridge  had  burnt  one 
afternoon  and  how  a  certain  traveler  in  the 
dark  of  the  night  driving  down  the  hill  above 
it,  fell  to  his  death  at  the  brink  of  the  cul- 
vert. 

"  An'  every  night  since  then,"  said  the  man, 
32 


Eben  Holden 

very  positively,  "  ye  can  hear  him  drivin'  down 
thet  hill — jes'  as  plain  as  ye  can  hear  me  talkin' 
— the  rattle  o'  the  wheels  an'  all.  It  stops  sud- 
den an'  then  ye  can  hear  'im  hit  the  rocks  way 
down  there  at  the  bottom  o'  the  gulley  an' 
groan  an'  groan.  An'  folks  say  it's  a  curse  on 
the  town  for  leavin'  thet  hole  open." 

"  What's  a  ghost.  Uncle  Eb?  "  I  whispered. 
"  Somethin'  like  a  swift,"  he  answered,  "  but 
not    so    powerful.     We   heard   a    panther  las' 
night,"  he  added,  turning  to  our  host.  "  Hol- 
lered like  sin  when  he  see  the  fire." 

"Scairt !  "  said  the  man  o'  the  house  gaping. 
"  That's  what  ailed  him.  I've  lived  twenty 
year  on  Paradise  road  an'  it  was  all  woods 
when  I  put  up  the  cabin.  Seen  deer  on  the 
doorstep  an'  bears  in  the  garden,  an'  panthers 
in  the  fields.  But  I  tell  ye  there's  no  critter  so 
terrible  as  a  man.  All  the  animals  know  'im — 
how  he  roars,  an'  spits  fire  an'  smoke  an'  lead 
so  it  goes  through  a  body  er  bites  off  a  leg, 
mebbe.  Guess  they'd  made  friends  with  me 
but  them  I  didn't  kill  went  away  smarting  with 
holes  in  'em.  An'  I  guess  they  told  all  their  peo- 
ple 'bout  me — the  terrible  critter  that  walked  on 
its  hind  legs  an'  hed  a  white  face  an'  drew  up 
an'  spit  'is  teeth  into  their  vitals  'cross  a  ten 
acre  lot.  An'  purty  soon  they  concluded  they 
33 


Eben  Holden 

didn't  want  t'  hev  no  truck  with  me.  They 
thought  this  clearin'  was  the  valley  o'  death  an' 
they  got  very  careful.  But  the  deer  they  kep' 
peekin'  in  at  me.  Sumthin'  funny  'bout  a  deer — 
they're  so  cu'rus.  Seem  's  though  they  loved  the 
look  o'  me  an'  the  taste  o'  the  tame  grass. 
Mebbe  God  meant  em  t'  serve  in  the  yoke  some 
way  an'  be  the  friend  o'  man.  They're  the  out- 
casts o'  the  forest — the  prey  o'  the  other  ani- 
mals an'  men  like  'em  only  when  they're  dead. 
An'  they're  the  purtiest  critter  alive  an'  the 
spryest  an'  the  mos'  graceful." 

"  Men  are  the  mos'  terrible  of  all  critters,  an' 
the  meanest,"  said  Uncle  Eb.  "  They're  the 
only  critters  that  kill  fer  fun." 

"  Bed-time,"  said  our  host,  rising  presently. 
"  Got  t'  be  up  early  'n  the  morning.' 

We  climbed  a  ladder  to  the  top  floor  of  the 
cabin  with  the  hired  men,  of  whom  there  were 
two.  The  good  lady  of  the  house  had  made  a 
bed  for  us  on  the  floor  and  I  remember  Fred 
came  up  the  ladder  too,  and  lay  down  beside 
us.  Uncle  Eb  was  up  with  the  men  in  the 
morning  and  at  breakfast  time  my  hostess  came 
and  woke  me  with  kisses  and  helped  me  to 
dress.  When  we  were  about  going  she  brought 
a  little  wagon  out  of  the  cellar  that  had  been  a 
plaything  of  her  dead  boy,  and  said  I  could 
34 


Eben  Holden 

have  it.  This  wonderful  wagon  was  just  the 
thing  for  the  journey  we  were  making.  When 
I  held  the  little  tongue  in  my  hand  I  was  half 
way  to  heaven  already.  It  had  four  stout 
wheels  and  a  beautiful  red  box.  Her  brother 
had  sent  it  all  the  way  from  New  York  and  it 
had  stood  so  long  in  the  cellar  it  was  now  much 
in  need  of  repair.  Uncle  Eb  took  it  to  the  tool 
shop  in  the  stable  and  put  it  in  ship  shape  order 
and  made  a  little  pair  of  thills  to  go  in  place  of 
the  tongue.  Then  he  made  a  big  flat  collar  and  a 
back-pad  out  of  the  leather  in  old  boot-legs,  and 
rigged  a  pair  of  tugs  out  of  two  pieces  of  rope. 
Old  Fred  was  quite  cast  down  when  he  stood 
in  harness  between  the  shafts. 

He  had  waited  patiently  to  have  his  collar 
fitted;  he  had  grinned  and  panted  and  wagged 
his  tail  with  no  suspicion  of  the  serious  and  hu- 
miliating career  he  was  entering  upon.  Now 
he  stood  with  a  sober  face  and  his  aspect  was 
full  of  meditation. 

"  You  fightin'  hound !  "  said  Uncle  Eb,  "  I 
hope  this'll  improve  yer  character." 

Fred  tried  to  sit  down  when  Uncle  Eb  tied 
a  leading  rope  to  his  collar.  When  he  heard 
the  wheels  rattle  and  felt  the  pull  of  the  wagon 
he  looked  back  at  it  and  growled  a  little  and 
started  to  run.  Uncle  Eb  shouted  "  whoa,"  and 
35 


Eben  Holden 

held  him  back,  and  then  the  dog  got  down  on 
his  belly  and  trembled  until  we  patted  his  head 
and  gave  him  a  kind  word.  He  seemed  to  un- 
derstand presently  and  came  along  with  a 
steady  stride.  Our  hostess  met  us  at  the  gate 
and  the  look  of  her  face  when  she  bade  us  good- 
by  and  tucked  some  cookies  into  my  pocket, 
has  always  lingered  in  my  memory  and  put  in 
me  a  mighty  respect  for  all  women.  The  sound 
of  her  voice,  the  tears,  the  waving  of  her  hand- 
kerchief, as  we  went  away,  are  among  the 
things  that  have  made  me  what  I  am. 

We  stowed  our  packages  in  the  wagon  box 
and  I  walked  a  few  miles  and  then  got  into  the 
empty  basket.  Fred  tipped  his  load  over  once 
or  twice,  but  got  a  steady  gait  in  the  way  of 
industry  after  a  while  and  a  more  cheerful  look. 
We  had  our  dinner  by  the  roadside  on  the  bank 
of  a  brook,  an  hour  or  so  after  midday,  and 
came  to  a  little  village  about  sundown.  As  we 
were  nearing  it  there  was  some  excitement 
among  the  dogs  and  one  of  them  tackled  Fred. 
He  went  into  battle  very  promptly,  the  wagon 
jumping  and  rattling  until  it  turned  bottom  up. 
Re-inforced  by  Uncle  Eb's  cane  he  soon  saw 
the  heels  of  his  aggressor  and  stood  growling 
savagely.  He  was  like  the  goal  in  a  puzzle 
maze  all  wound  and  tangled  in  his  harness  and 
36 


Eben   Holden 

it  took  some  time  to  get  his  face  before  him 
and  his  feet  free. 

At  a  small  grocery  where  groups  of  men, 
just  out  of  the  fields,  were  sitting,  their  arms 
bare  to  the  elbows,  we  bought  more  bread  and 
butter.  In  paying  for  it  Uncle  Eb  took  a  pack- 
age out  of  his  trouser  pocket  to  get  his  change. 
It  was  tied  in  a  red  handkerchief  and  I  remem- 
ber it  looked  to  be  about  the  size  of  his  fist.  He 
was  putting  it  back  when  it  fell  from  his  hand, 
heavily,  and  I  could  hear  the  chink  of  coin  as  it 
struck.  One  of  the  men,  who  sat  near,  picked 
it  up  and  gave  it  back  to  him.  As  I  remember 
well,  his  kindness  had  an  evil  flavor,  for  he 
winked  at  his  companions,  who  nudged  each 
other  as  they  smiled  knowingly.  Uncle  Eb 
was  a  bit  cross,  when  I  climbed  into  the  basket, 
and  walked  along  in  silence  so  rapidly  it  wor- 
ried the  dog  to  keep  pace.  The  leading  rope 
was  tied  to  the  stock  of  the  rifle  and  Fred's 
walking  gait  was  too  slow  for  the  comfort  of 
his  neck. 

"  You  shif'less  cuss !  I'll  put  a  kink  in  your 
neck  fer  you  if  ye  don't  walk  up,"  said  Uncle 
Eb,  as  he  looked  back  at  the  dog,  in  a  temper 
wholly  unworthy  of  him. 

We  had  crossed  a  deep    valley    and    were 
climbing  a  long  hill  in  the  dusky  twilight. 
37 


Eben   Holden 

"  Willie,"  said  Uncle  Eb,  "  your  eyes  are 
better  'n  mine — look  back  and  see  if  anyone's 
comin'." 

"  Can't  see  anyone,"  I  answered. 

"  Look  'way  back  in  the  road  as  fur  as  ye 
can  see." 

I  did  so,  but  I  could  see  no  one.  He  slack- 
ened his  pace  a  little  after  that  and  before  we 
had  passed  the  hill  it  was  getting  dark.  The 
road  ran  into  woods  and  a  river  cut  through 
them  a  little  way  from  the  clearing. 

"  Supper  time,  Uncle  Eb,"  I  suggested,  as 
we  came  to  the  bridge. 

"  Supper  time,   Uncle   Eb,"   he   answered, 
turning  down  to  the  shore. 

I  got  out  of  the  basket  then  and  followed  him 
in  the  brush.  Fred  found  it  hard  traveling 
here  and  shortly  we  took  off  his  harness  and 
left  the  wagon,  transferring  its  load  to  the 
basket,  while  we  pushed  on  to  find  a  camping 
place.  Back  in  the  thick  timber  a  long  way 
from  the  road,  we  built  a  fire  and  had  our  sup- 
per. It  was  a  dry  nook  in  the  pines — "  tight 
as  a  house,"  Uncle  Eb  said — and  carpeted  with 
the  fragrant  needles.  When  we  lay  on  our 
backs  in  the  firelight  I  remember  the  weary, 
droning  voice  of  Uncle  Eb  had  an  impressive 
accompaniment  of  whispers.  While  he  told 
38 


Eben   Holden 

stories  I  had  a  glowing  cinder  on  the  end  of  a 
stick  and  was  weaving  fiery  skeins  in  the 
gloom. 

He  had  been  telling  me  of  a  panther  he  had 
met  in  the  woods,  one  day,  and  how  the  crea- 
ture ran  away  at  the  sight  of  him. 

"Why's  a  panther  'fraid  o'  folks?"  I  in- 
quired. 

"  Wall,  ye  see,  they  used  t'  be  friendly,  years 
'n  years  ago — folks  'n  panthers — but  they  want 
eggszac'ly  cal'lated  t'  git  along  t'gether  some 
way.  An'  ol'  she  panther  gin  'em  one  uv  her 
cubs,  a  great  while  ago,  jes  t'  make  frien's.  The 
cub  he  grew  big  'n  used  t'  play  n  be  very  gentle. 
They  wuz  a  boy  he  tuk  to,  an'  both  on  'em  got 
very  friendly.  The  boy  'n  the  panther  went  off 
one  day  'n  the  woods — guess  'twas  more  'n  a 
hundred  year  ago — an'  was  lost.  Walked  all 
over  'n  fin'ly  got  t'  goin'  round  'n  round  'n  a 
big  circle  'til  they  was  both  on  'em  tired  out. 
Come  night  they  lay  down  es  hungry  es  tew 
bears.  The  boy  he  was  kind  o'  'fraid  'o  the 
dark,  so  he  got  up  clus  t'  the  panther  'n  lay 
'tween  his  paws.  The  boy  he  thought  the 
panther  smelt  funny  an'  the  panther  he  didn't 
jes'  like  the  smell  o'  the  boy.  An'  the  boy  he 
hed  the  legache  'n  kicked  the  panther  'n  the 
belly,  so  't  he  kin'  o'  gagged  'n  spit  an'  they 
39 


Eben  Holden 

want  neither  on  'em  reel  comf'table.  The  sof 
paws  o'  the  panther  was  jes'  like  pin  cushions. 
He'd  great  hooks  in  'em  sharper  'n  the  p'int  uv 
a  needle.  An'  when  he  was  goin'  t'  sleep  he'd 
run  'em  out  jes'  like  an  ol'  cat — kind  o'  playful 
— 'n  purr  'n  pull.  All  t'  once  the  boy  felt  sum- 
thin'  like  a  lot  o'  needles  prickin'  his  back. 
Made  him  jump  'n  holler  like  Sam  Hill.  The 
panther  he  spit  sassy  'n  riz  up  'n  smelt  o'  the 
ground.  Didn't  neither  on  'em  know  what  was 
the  matter.  Bime  bye  they  lay  down  ag'in. 
'Twant  only  a  little  while  'fore  the  boy  felt 
somethin'  prickin'  uv  him.  He  hollered  'n 
kicked  ag'in.  The  panther  he  growled  'n  spit 
'n  dumb  a  tree  'n  sot  on  a  limb  'n  peeked  over 
at  thet  queer  little  critter.  Couldn't  neither  on 
'em  understan'  it.  The  boy  c'u'd  see  the  eyes  o' 
the  panther  'n  the  dark.  Shone  like  tew  live 
coals  eggszac'ly.  The  panther  'd  never  sot  'n  a 
tree  when  he  was  hungry,  'n  see  a  boy  below 
him.  Sumthin'  tol'  him  t'  jump.  Tail  went 
swish  in  the  leaves  like  thet.  His  whiskers  quiv- 
ered, his  tongue  come  out.  C'u'd  think  o'  nuth- 
in'  but  his  big  empty  belly.  The  boy  was  scairt. 
He  up  with  his  gun  quick  es  a  flash.  Aimed 
at  his  eyes  'n  let  'er  flicker.  Blew  a  lot  o'  smoke 
'n  bird  shot  'n  paper  waddin'  right  up  in  t'  his 
face.  The  panther  he  lost  his  whiskers  'n  one 
40 


Eben   Holden 

eye  'n  got  his  hide  full  o'  shot  'n  fell  off  the  tree 
like  a  ripe  apple  'n  run  fer  his  life.  Thought 
he'd  never  see  nuthin'  c'u'd  growl  'n  spit  s' 
powerful  es  thet  boy.  Never  c'u'd  bear  the 
sight  uv  a  man  after  thet.  Allwus  made  him 
gag  'n  spit  t'  think  o'  the  man  critter.  Went 
off  tew  his  own  folks  'n  tol'  o'  the  boy  'at  spit 
fire  'n  smoke  'n  growled  so't  almos'  tore  his  ears 
off.  An'  now,  whenever  they  hear  a  gun  go  off 
they  allwus  think  it's  the  man  critter  growlin'. 
An'  they  gag  'n  spit  'n  look  es  if  it  made  'em  sick 
t'  the  stomach.  An'  the  man  folks  they  didn't 
hev  no  good  'pinion  o'  the  panthers  after  thet. 
Haint  never  been  frien's  any  more.  Fact  is  a 
man,  he  can  be  any  kind  uv  a  beast,  but  a  pan- 
ther he  can't  be  nuthin'  but  jest  a  panther." 

Then,  too,  as  we  lay  there  in  the  fire  light, 
Uncle  Eb  told  the  remarkable  story  of  the  gin- 
gerbread bear.  He  told  it  slowly,  as  if  his  in- 
vention were  severely  taxed.  And  here  is  the 
story : 

"  Once  they  wuz  a  boy  got  lost.  Was  goin' 
cross  lots  t'  play  with  'nother  boy  'n  hed  t' 
go  through  a  strip  o'  woods.  Went  off  the  trail 
t'  chase  a  butterfly  'n  got  lost.  Hed  his  kite  'n' 
cross-gun  'n'  he  wandered  all  over  'til  he  was 
tired  'n  hungry.  Then  he  lay  down  t'  cry  on  a 
41 


Eben  Holden 

bed  o'  moss.    Purty  quick  they  was  a  big  black 
bear  come  along. 

"  '  What's  the  matter?  '  said  the  bear. 

"  'Hungry,'  says  the  boy.- 

Tell  ye  what  I'll  dew,'  says  the  bear.  '  If 
ye'll  scratch  my  back  fer  me  I'll  let  ye  cut  a 
piece  o'  my  tail  off  t'  eat.' 

"  Bear's  tail,  ye  know,  hes  a  lot  o'  meat  on  it 
— hearn  tell  it  was  gran'  good  fare.  So  the  boy 
he  scratched  the  bear's  back  an'  the  bear  he 
grinned  an'  made  his  paw  go  patitty-pat  on  the 
ground — it  did  feel  so  splendid.  Then  the  boy 
tuk  his  jack  knife  'n  begun  t'  cut  off  the  bear's 
tail.  The  bear  he  flew  mad  'n  growled  'n 
growled  so  the  boy  he  stopped  'n  didn't  dast  cut 
no  more. 

"  '  Hurts  awful,'  says  the  bear.  '  Couldn't 
never  stan'  it.  Tell  ye  what  I'll  dew.  Ye 
scratched  my  back  an'  now  I'll  scratch  your'n.' " 

"  Gee  whiz!  "  said  I. 

"  Yessir,  that's  what  the  bear  said,"  Uncle 
Eb  went  on.  "  The  boy  he  up  'n  run  like  a 
nailer.  The  bear  he  laughed  hearty  'n  scratched 
the  ground  like  Sam  Hill,  'n  flung  the  dirt 
higher'n  his  head. 

"  '  Look  here,'  says  he,  as  the  boy  stopped, 
'  I  jes'  swallered  a  piece  o'  mutton.     Run  yer 
hand  int'  my  throat  an  I'll  let  ye  hev  it.' 
42 


Eben   Holden 

"  The  bear  he  opened  his  mouth  an'  showed 
his  big  teeth." 

"Whew!"  I  whistled. 

"  Thet's  eggszac'ly  what  he  done,"  said 
Uncle  Eb.  "  He  showed  'em  plain.  The  boy 
was  scairter  'n  a  weasel.  The  bear  he  jumped 
up  'an  down  on  his  hind  legs  'n  laughed  'n'  hol- 
lered 'n'  shook  himself. 

Only  jes'  foolin,'  says  he,  when  he  see  the 
boy  was  goin'  t'  run  ag'in.  "  What  ye  'fraid 
uv?' 

Can't  bear  t'  stay  here,'  says  the  boy,  '  less 
ye'll  keep  yer  mouth  shet.' 

"  An  the  bear  he  shet  his  mouth  'n  pinted  to 
the  big  pocket  'n  his  fur  coat  'n  winked  'n  mo- 
tioned t'  the  boy. 

"  The  bear  he  reely  did  hev  a  pocket  on  the 
side  uv  his  big  fur  coat.  The  boy  slid  his  hand 
in  up  t'  the  elbow.  Wha'  d'ye  s'pose  he 
found?' 

"  Dunno,"  said  I. 

"  Sumthin'  t'  eat,"  he  continued.  "  Boy  liked 
it  best  uv  all  things." 

I  guessed  everything  I  could  think  of,  from 
cookies  to  beefsteak,  and  gave  up. 

"  Gingerbread,"  said  he,  soberly,  at  length. 

"  Thought  ye  said  bears  couldn't  talk,"  I  ob- 
jected. 

43 


Eben   Holden 

"  Wall,  the  boy  'd  fell  asleep  an'  he'd  only 
dreamed  o'  the  bear,"  said  Uncle  Eb.  "  Ye  see, 
bears  can  talk  when  boys  are  dreamin'  uv  'em. 
Come  daylight,  the  boy  got  up  'n  ketched  a 
crow.  Broke  his  wing  with  the  cross-gun.  Then 
he  tied  the  kite  string  on  t'  the  crow's  leg,  an' 
the  crow  flopped  along  'n  the  boy  followed  him 
'n  bime  bye  they  come  out  'n  a  corn-field,  where 
the  crow'd  been  used  t'  comin'  fer  his  dinner." 

"  What  'come  o'  the  boy?  "  said  I. 

"  Went  home,'  said  he,  gaping,  as  he  lay  on 
his  back  and  looked  up  at  the  tree  tops.  "  An' 
he  allwus  said  a  bear  was  good  comp'ny  if  he'd 
only  keep  his  mouth  shet — jes'  like  some  folks 
I've  hearn  uv." 

"  An'  what  'come  o'  the  crow?  " 

"  Went  t'  the  ol'  crow  doctor  'n  got  his  wing 
fixed,"  he  said,  drowsily. 

And  in  a  moment  I  heard  him  snoring. 

We  had  been  asleep  a  long  time  when  the 
barking  of  Fred  woke  us.  I  could  just  see 
Uncle  Eb  in  the  dim  light  of  the  fire,  kneeling 
beside  me,  the  rifle  in  his  hand. 

"  I'll  fill  ye  full  o'  lead  if  ye  come  any 
nearer,"  he  shouted. 


44 


CHAPTER  IV 

We  listened  awhile  then  but  heard  no  sound 
in  the  thicket,  although  Fred  was  growling 
ominously,  his  hair  on  end.  As  for  myself  I 
never  had  a  more  fearful  hour  than  that  we  suf- 
fered before  the  light  of  morning  came. 

I  made  no  outcry,  but  clung  to  my  old  com- 
panion, trembling.  He  did  not  stir  for  a  few 
minutes,  and  then  we  crept  cautiously  into  the 
small  hemlocks  on  one  side  of  the  opening. 

"  Keep  still,"  he  whispered,  "  don't  move  er 
speak." 

Presently  we  heard  a  move  in  the  brush  and 
then  quick  as  a  flash  Uncle  Eb  lifted  his  rifle 
and  fired  in  the  direction  of  it.  Before  the  loud 
echo  had  gone  off  in  the  woods  we  heard 
something  break  through  the  brush  at  a  run. 

"  'S  a  man,'"  said  Uncle  Eb,  as  he  listened. 
"  He  aint  a  losin'  no  time  nuther." 

We  sat  listening  as  the  sound  grew  fainter, 

and  when  it  ceased  entirely  Uncle  Eb  said  he 

must  have  got  to  the  road.     After  a  little  the 

light    of    the    morning    began    sifting  down 

45 


Eben   Holden 

through  the  tree  tops  and  was  greeted  with  in- 
numerable songs. 

"  He  done  noble,"  said  Uncle  Eb,  patting 
the  old  dog  as  he  rose  to  poke  the  fire.  "  Purty 
good  chap  I  call  'im!  He  can  hev  half  o'  my 
dinner  any  time  he  wants  it." 

"  Who  do  you  suppose  it  was?  "  I  inquired. 

"  Robbers,  I  guess,"  he  answered,  "  an' 
they'll  be  layin'  fer  us  when  we  go  out,  mebbe; 
but,  if  they  are,  Fred  '11  find  'em  an'  I've  got 
Ol'  Trusty  here  'n'  I  guess  thet'll  take  care  uv 
us." 

His  rifle  was  always  flattered  with  that  name 
of  Ol'  Trusty  when  it  had  done  him  a  good 
turn. 

Soon  as  the  light  had  come  clear  he  went  out 
in  the  near  woods  with  dog  and  rifle  and  beat 
around  in  the  brush.  He  returned  shortly  and 
said  he  had  seen  where  they  came  and  went. 

"  I'd  a  killed  em  deader  'n  a  door  nail,"  said 
he,  laying  down  the  old  rifle,  "  if  they'd  a  come 
any  nearer." 

Then  we  brought  water  from  the  river  and 
had  our  breakfast.  Fred  went  on  ahead  of  us, 
when  we  started  for  the  road,  scurrying 
through  the  brush  on  both  sides  of  the  trail,  as 
if  he  knew  what  was  expected  of  him.  He 
flushed  a  number  of  partridges  and  Uncle  Eb 
46 


Eben  Holden 

killed  one  of  them  en  our  way  to  the  road. 
We  resumed  our  journey  without  any  further 
adventure.  It  was  so  smooth  and  level  under 
foot  that  Uncle  Eb  let  me  get  in  the  wagon 
after  Fred  was  hitched  to  it.  The  old  dog  went 
along  soberly  and  without  much  effort,  save 
when  we  came  to  hills  or  sandy  places,  when  I 
always  got  out  and  ran  on  behind.  Uncle  Eb 
showed  me  how  to  brake  the  wheels  with  a  long 
stick  going  down  hill.  I  remember  how  it  hit 
the  dog's  heels  at  the  first  down  grade,  and 
how  he  ran  to  keep  out  of  the  way  of  it.  We 
were  going  like  mad  in  half  a  minute,  Uncle 
Eb  coming  after  us  calling  to  the  dog.  Fred 
only  looked  over  his  shoulder,  with  a  wild  eye, 
at  the  rattling  wagon  and  ran  the  harder.  He 
leaped  aside  at  the  bottom  and  then  we  went  all 
in  a  heap.     Fortunately  no  harm  was  done. 

"  I  declare!  "  said  Uncle  Eb  as  he  came  up 
to  us,  puffing  like  a  spent  horse,  and  picked  me 
up  unhurt  and  began  to  untangle  the  harness  of 
old  Fred,  "  I  guess  he  must  a  thought  the 
devil  was  after  him." 

The  dog  growled  a  little  for  a  moment  and 
bit  at  the  harness,  but  coaxing  reassured  him 
and  he  went  along  all  right  again  on  the  level. 
At  a  small  settlement  the  children  came  out 
and  ran  along  beside  my  wagon,  laughing  and 
47 


Eben  Holden 

asking  me  questions.  Some  of  them  tried  to 
pet  the  dog,  but  old  Fred  kept  to  his  labor  at 
the  heels  of  Uncle  Eb  and  looked  neither  to 
right  nor  left.  We  stopped  under  a  tree  by 
the  side  of  a  narrow  brook  for  our  dinner,  and 
one  incident  of  that  meal  I  think  of  always 
when  I  think  of  Uncle  Eb.  It  shows  the  man- 
ner of  man  he  was  and  with  what  understand- 
ing and  sympathy  he  regarded  every  living 
thing.  In  rinsing  his  tea  pot  he  accidentally 
poured  a  bit  of  water  on  a  big  bumble  bee. 
The  poor  creature  struggled  to  lift  himself,  and 
then  another  downpour  caught  him  and  still 
another  until  his  wings  fell  drenched.  Then 
his  breast  began  heaving  violently,  his  legs  stif- 
fened behind  him  and  he  sank,  head  downward, 
in  the  grass.  Uncle  Eb  saw  the  death  throes 
of  the  bee  and  knelt  down  and  lifted  the  dead 
body  by  one  of  its  wings. 

"  Jes'  look  at  his  velvet  coat,"  he  said,  "  an' 
his  wings  all  wet  n'  stiff.  They'll  never  carry 
him  another  journey.  It's  too  bad  a  man  has 
t'  kill  every  step  he  takes." 

The  bee's  tail  was  moving  faintly  and  Uncle 
Eb  laid  him  out  in  the  warm  sunlight  and 
fanned  him  awhile  with  his  hat,  trying  to  bring 
•back  the  breath  of  life. 

"  Guilty !  "  he  said,  presently,  coming  back 
48 


Eben  Holden 

with  a  sober  face.  "  Thet's  a  dead  bee.  No 
tellin'  how  many  was  dependent  on  him  er 
what  plans  he  hed.  Must  a  gi'n  him  a  lot  o' 
pleasure  t'  fly  round  in  the  sunlight,  workin' 
every  fair  day.     'S  all  over  now." 

He  had  a  gloomy  face  for  an  hour  after  that 
and  many  a  time,  in  the  days  that  followed, 
I  heard  him  speak  of  the  murdered  bee. 

We  lay  resting  awhile  after  dinner  and 
watching  a  big  city  of  ants.  Uncle  Eb  told  me 
how  they  tilled  the  soil  of  the  mound  every  year 
and  sowed  their  own  kind  of  grain — a  small 
white  seed  like  rice — and  reaped  their  harvest 
in  the  late  summer,  storing  the  crop  in  their  dry 
cellars  under  ground.  He  told  me  also  the 
story  of  the  ant  lion — a  big  beetle  that  lives  in 
the  jungles  of  the  grain  and  the  grass — of 
which  I  remember  only  an  outline,  more  or  less 
imperfect. 

Here  it  is  in  my  own  rewording  of  his 
tale:  On  a  bright  day  one  of  the  little  black 
folks  went  off  on  a  long  road  in  a  great  field  of 
barley.  He  was  going  to  another  city  of  his 
own  people  to  bring  helpers  for  the  harvest. 
He  came  shortly  to  a  sandy  place  where  the 
barley  was  thin  and  the  hot  sunlight  lay  near  to 
the  ground.  In  a  little  valley  close  by  the  road 
of  the  ants  he  saw  a  deep  pit,  in  the  sand,  with 
49 


Eben  Holden 

steep  sides  sloping  to  a  point  in  the  middle  and 
as  big  around  as  a  biscuit.  Now  the  ants  are  a 
curious  people  and  go  looking  for  things  that 
are  new  and  wonderful  as  they  walk  abroad, 
so  they  have  much  to  tell  worth  hearing  after  a 
journey.  The  little  traveler  was  young  and 
had  no  fear,  so  he  left  the  road  and  went  down 
to  the  pit  and  peeped  over  the  side  of  it. 

"  What  in  the  world  is  the  meaning 
of  this  queer  place?"  he  asked  himself 
as  he  ran  around  the  rim.  In  a  mo- 
ment he  had  stepped  over  and  the  soft 
sand  began  to  cave  and  slide  beneath  him. 
Quick  as  a  flash  the  big  lion-beetle  rose  up  in 
the  center  of  the  pit  and  began  to  reach  for 
him.  Then  his  legs  flew  in  the  caving  sand 
and  the  young  ant  struck  his  blades  in  it  to  hold 
the  little  he  could  gain.  Upward  he  struggled, 
leaping  and  floundering  in  the  dust.  He  had 
got  near  the  rim  and  had  stopped,  clinging  to 
get  his  breath,  when  the  lion  began  flinging  the 
sand  at  him  with  his  long  feelers.  It  rose  in  a 
cloud  and  fell  on  the  back  of  the  ant  and  pulled 
at  him  as  it  swept  down.  He  could  feel  the 
mighty  cleavers  of  the  lion  striking  near  his 
hind  legs  and  pulling  the  sand  from  under 
them.  He  must  go  down  in  a  moment  and  he 
knew  what  that  meant.  He  had  heard  the  old 
5° 


Eben  Holden 

men  of  the  tribe  tell  often — how  they  hold  one 
helpless  and  slash  him  into  a  dozen  pieces.  He 
was  letting  go,  in  despair,  when  he  felt  a  hand 
on  his  neck.  Looking  up  he  saw  one  of  his 
own  people  reaching  over  the  rim,  and  in  a 
jiffy  they  had  shut  their  fangs  together.  He 
moved  little  by  little  as  the  other  tugged  at  him, 
and  in  a  moment  was  out  of  the  trap  and  could 
feel  the  honest  earth  under  him.  When  they 
had  got  home  and  told  their  adventure,  some 
were  for  going  to  slay  the  beetle. 

"  There  is  never  a  pit  in  the  path  o'  duty," 
said  the  wise  old  chief  of  the  little  black  folks. 
"  See  that  you  keep  in  the  straight  road." 

"  If  our  brother  had  not  left  the  straight 
road,"  said  one  who  stood  near,  "  he  that  was 
in  danger  would  have  gone  down  into  the  pit." 

"  It  matters  much,"  he  answered,  "  whether 
it  was  kindness  or  curiosity  that  led  him  out  of 
the  road.  But  he  that  follows  a  fool  hath  much 
need  of  wisdom,  for  if  he  save  the  fool  do  ye 
not  see  that  he  hath  encouraged  folly?  " 

Of  course  I  had  then  no  proper  understand- 
ing of  the  chief's  counsel,  nor  do  I  pretend  even 
to  remember  it  from  that  first  telling,  but  the 
tale  was  told  frequently  in  the  course  of  my 
long  acquaintance  with  Uncle  Eb. 

The  diary  of  my  good  old  friend  lies  before 
5i 


Eben   Holden 

me  as  I  write,  the  leaves  turned  yellow  and  the 
entries  dim.  I  remember  how  stern  he  grew 
of  an  evening  when  he  took  out  this  sacred 
little  record  of  our  wanderings  and  began  to 
write  in  it  with  his  stub  of  a  pencil.  He  wrote 
slowly  and  read  and  reread  each  entry  with 
great  care  as  I  held  the  torch  for  him.  "  Be 
still,  boy — be  still,"  he  would  say  when  some 
pressing  interrogatory  passed  my  lips,  and  then 
he  would  bend  to  his  work  while  the  point  of 
his  pencil  bored  further  into  my  patience.  Be- 
ginning here  I  shall  quote  a  few  entries  from 
the  diary  as  they  cover,  with  sufficient  detail, 
an  uneventful  period  of  our  journey. 

August  the  20th.  Killed  a  patridge  to-day. 
Biled  it  in  the  tea  pot  for  dinner.  Went  good. 
14  mild. 

August  the  2 1  st.  Seen  a  deer  this  morning. 
Fred  fit  ag'in.  Come  near  spilin'  the  wagon. 
Hed  to  stop  and  fix  the  ex.      10  mild. 

August  the  22nd.  Clumb  a  tree  this  morn- 
ing after  wild  grapes.  Come  near  falling. 
Gin  me  a  little  crick  in  the  back.  Wilie  hes 
got  a  stun  bruze.      12  mild. 

August  the  23d.  Went  in  swimmin. 
Ketched  a  few  fish  before  breakfus'.  Got  pro- 
visions an'  two  case  knives  an'  one  fork,  also 


52 


Eben   Holden 

one  tin  pie  plate.  Used  same  to  fry  fish  for 
dinner.     14  mild. 

August  the  24th.  Got  some  spirits  for 
Willie  to  rub  on  my  back.  Boots  wearing  out. 
Terrible  hot.  Lay  in  the  shade  in  the  heat  of 
the  day.  Gypsies  come  an'  camped  by  us  to- 
night.    10  mild. 

I  remember  well  the  coming  of  those  gyp- 
sies. We  were  fishing  in  sight  of  the  road  and 
our  fire  was  crackling  on  the  smooth  cropped 
shore.  The  big  wagons  of  the  gypsies — there 
were  four  of  them  as  red  and  beautiful  as  those 
of  a  circus  caravan — halted  about  sundown 
while  the  men  came  over  a  moment  to  scan  the 
field.  Presently  they  went  back  and  turned 
their  wagons  into  the  siding  and  began  to  un- 
hitch. Then  a  lot  of  barefooted  children,  and 
women  under  gay  shawls,  overran  the  field 
gathering  wood  and  making  ready  for  night. 
Meanwhile  swarthy  drivers  took  the  horses  to 
water  and  tethered  them  with  long  ropes  so 
they  could  crop  the  grass  of  the  roadside. 

One  tall,  bony  man,  with  a  face  almost  as 
black  as  that  of  an  Indian,  brought  a  big  iron 
pot  and  set  it  up  near  the  water.  A  big  stew 
of  beef  bone,  leeks  and  potatoes  began  to  cook 
shortly,  and  I  remember  it  had  such  a  goodly 


53 


Eben   Holden 

smell  I  was  minded  to  ask  them  for  a  taste  of 
it.  A  little  city  of  strange  people  had  sur- 
rounded us  of  a  sudden.  Uncle  Eb  thought  of 
going  on,  but  the  night  was  coming  fast  and 
there  would  be  no  moon  and  we  were  foot- 
sore and  hungry.  Women  and  children  came 
over  to  our  fire,  after  supper,  and  made  more  of 
me  than  I  liked.  I  remember  taking  refuge 
between  the  knees  of  Uncle  Eb,  and  Fred  sat 
close  in  front  of  us  growling  fiercely  when 
they  came  too  near.  They  stood  about,  looking 
down  at  us  and  whispered  together,  and  one 
young  miss  of  the  tribe  came  up  and  tried  to 
kiss  me  in  spite  of  Fred's  warnings.  She  had 
flashing  black  eyes  and  hair  as  dark  as  the 
night,  that  fell  in  a  curling  mass  upon  her 
shoulders;  but,  somehow,  I  had  a  mighty  fear 
of  her  and  fought  with  desperation  to  keep  my 
face  from  the  touch  of  her  red  lips.  Uncle  Eb 
laughed  and  held  Fred  by  the  collar,  and  I  be- 
gan to  cry  out  in  terror,  presently,  when,  to  my 
great  relief,  she  let  go  and  ran  away  to  her 
own  people.  They  all  went  away  to  their 
wagons,  save  one  young  man,  who  was  tall 
with  light  hair  and  a  fair  skin,  and  who  looked 
like  none  of  the  other  gypsies. 

"  Take  care  of  yourself,"  he  whispered,  as 


54 


Eben   Holden 

soon  as  the  rest  had  gone.  "  These  are  bad 
people.     You'd  better  be  off." 

The  young  man  left  us  and  Uncle  Eb  began 
to  pack  up  at  once.  They  were  going  to  bed 
in  their  wagons  when  we  came  away.  I  stood 
in  the  basket  and  Fred  drew  the  wagon  that 
had  in  it  only  a  few  bundles.  A  mile  or  more 
further  on  we  came  to  a  lonely,  deserted  cabin 
close  to  the  road.  It  had  begun  to  thunder  in 
the  distance  and  the  wind  was  blowing  damp. 

"  Guess  nobody  lives  here,"  said  Uncle  Eb 
as  he  turned  in  at  the  sagging  gate  and  began 
to  cross  the  little  patch  of  weeds  and  hollyhocks 
behind  it.  "  Door's  half  down,  but  I  guess 
it'll  de  better'n  no  house.  'Goin'  t'  rain  sartin." 

I  was  nodding  a  little  about  then,  I  remem- 
ber; but  I  was  wide  awake  when  he  took  me 
out  of  the  basket.  The  old  house  stood  on  a 
high  hill,  and  we  could  see  the  stars  of  heaven 
through  the  ruined  door  and  one  of  the  back 
windows.  Uncle  Eb  lifted  the  leaning  door 
a  little  and  shoved  it  aside.  We  heard  then  a 
quick  stir  in  the  old  house — a  loud  and  ghostly 
rustle  it  seems  now  as  I  think  of  it — like  that 
made  by  linen  shaking  on  the  line.  Uncle  Eb 
took  a  step  backward  as  if  it  had  startled  him. 

"  Guess  it's  nuthin'  to  be  'fraid  of,"  he  said, 


55 


Eben  Holden 

feeling  in  the  pocket  of  his  coat.  He  had 
struck  a  match  in  a  moment.  By  its  flickering 
light  I  could  see  only  a  bit  of  rubbish  on  the 
floor. 

"  Full  o'  white  owls,"  said  he,  stepping  in- 
side, where  the  rustling  was  now  continuous. 
"  They'll  do  us  no  harm." 

I  could  see  them  now  flying  about  under  the 
low  ceiling.  Uncle  Eb  gathered  an  armful  of 
grass  and  clover,  in  the  near  field,  and  spread 
it  in  a  corner  well  away  from  the  ruined  door 
and  windows.  Covered  with  our  blanket  it 
made  a  fairly  comfortable  bed.  Soon  as  we 
had  lain  down,  the  rain  began  to  rattle  on  the 
shaky  roof  and  flashes  of  lightning  lit  every 
corner  of  the  old  room. 

I  have  had,  ever,  a  curious  love  of  storms, 
and,  from  the  time  when  memory  began  its 
record  in  my  brain,  it  has  delighted  me  to  hear 
at  night  the  roar  of  thunder  and  see  the  swift 
play  of  the  lightning.  I  lay  between  Uncle  Eb 
and  the  old  dog,  who  both  went  asleep  shortly. 
Less  wearied  I  presume  than  either  of  them, 
for  I  had  done  none  of  the  carrying,  and  had 
slept  a  long  time  that  day  in  the  shade  of  a 
tree,  I  was  awake  an  hour  or  more  after  they 
were  snoring.  Every  flash  lit  the  old  room 
like  the  full  glare  of  the  noonday  sun.  I  re- 
56 


Eben  Holden 

member  it  showed  me  an  old  cradle,  piled  full 
of  rubbish,  a  rusty  scythe  hung  in  the  rotting 
sash  of  a  window,  a  few  lengths  of  stove  pipe 
and  a  plow  in  one  corner,  and  three  staring 
white  owls  that  sat  on  a  beam  above  the  door- 
way. The  rain  roared  on  the  old  roof  shortly, 
and  came  dripping  down  through  the  bare 
boards  above  us.  A  big  drop  struck  in  my  face 
and  I  moved  a  little.  Then  I  saw  what  made 
me  hold  my  breath  a  moment  and  cover  my 
head  with  the  shawl.  A  flash  of  lightning  re- 
vealed a  tall,  ragged  man  looking  in  at  the 
doorway.  I  lay  close  to  Uncle  Eb  imagining 
much  evil  of  that  vision  but  made  no  outcry. 

Snugged  in  between  my  two  companions  I 
felt  reasonably  secure  and  soon  fell  asleep. 
The  sun,  streaming  in  at  the  open  door,  roused 
me  in  the  morning.  At  the  beginning  of  each 
day  of  our  journey  I  woke  to  find  Uncle  Eb 
cooking  at  the  fire.  He  was  lying  beside  me, 
this  morning,  his  eyes  open. 

"  'Fraid  I'm  hard  sick,"  he  said  as  I  kissed 
him. 

"What's  the  matter?"  I  inquired. 

He  struggled  to  a  sitting  posture,  groaning 
so  it  went  to  my  heart. 

"  Rheumatiz,"  he  answered  presently. 

He  got  to  his  feet,  little  by  little,  and  every 
57 


Eben   Holden 

move  he  made  gave  him  great  pain.  With 
one  hand  on  his  cane  and  the  other  on  my 
shoulder  he  made  his  way  slowly  to  the  broken 
gate.  Even  now  I  can  see  clearly  the  fair 
prospect  of  that  high  place — a  valley  reaching 
to  distant  hills  and  a  river  winding  through  it, 
glimmering  in  the  sunlight;  a  long  wooded 
ledge  breaking  into  naked,  grassy  slopes  on  one 
side  of  the  valley  and  on  the  other  a  deep  forest 
rolling  to  the  far  horizon;  between  them  big 
patches  of  yellow  grain  and  white  buckwheat 
and  green  pasture  land  and  greener  meadows 
and  the  straight  road,  with  white  houses  on 
either  side  of  it,  glorious  in  a  double  fringe  of 
golden  rod  and  purple  aster  and  yellow  John's- 
wort  and  the  deep  blue  of  the  Jacob's  ladder. 
"  Looks  a  good  deal  like  the  promised  land," 
said  Uncle  Eb.     "  Haint  got  much  further  t' 

go-" 

He  sat  on  the  rotting  threshold  while  I 
pulled  some  of  the  weeds  in  front  of  the  door- 
step and  brought  kindlings  out  of  the  house 
and  built  a  fire.  While  we  were  eating  I  told 
Uncle  Eb  of  the  man  that  I  had  seen  in  the 
night. 

"  Guess  you  was  dreamin',"  he  said,  and, 
while  I  stood  firm  for  the  reality  of  that  I  had 
seen,  it  held  our  thought  only  for  a  brief  mo- 
58 


Eben   Holden 

ment.  My  companion  was  unable  to  walk  that 
day  so  we  lay  by,  in  the  shelter  of  the  old  house, 
eating  as  little  of  our  scanty  store  as  we  could 
do  with.  I  went  to  a  spring  near  by  for  water 
and  picked  a  good  mess  of  blackberries  that  I 
hid  away  until  supper  time,  so  as  to  surprise 
Uncle  Eb.  A  longer  day  than  that  we  spent 
in  the  old  house,  after  our  coming,  I  have  never 
known.  I  made  the  room  a  bit  tidier  and 
gathered  more  grass  for  bedding.  Uncle  Eb 
felt  better  as  the  day  grew  warm.  I  had  a 
busy  time  of  it  that  morning  bathing  his  back 
in  the  spirits  and  rubbing  until  my  small  arms 
ached.  I  have  heard  him  tell  often  how  vigor- 
ously I  worked  that  day  and  how  I  wrould  say : 
"  I'll  take  care  o'  you,  Uncle  Eb — won't  I, 
Uncle  Eb  ?  "  as  my  little  hands  flew  with  re- 
doubled energy  on  his  bare  skin.  That  finished 
we  lay  down  sleeping  until  the  sun  was  low, 
when  I  made  ready  the  supper  that  took  the  last 
of  everything  we  had  to  eat.  Uncle  Eb  was 
more  like  himself  that  evening  and,  sitting  up 
in  the  corner,  as  the  darkness  came,  told  me 
the  story  of  Squirreltown  and  Frog  Ferry, 
which  came  to  be  so  great  a  standby  in  those 
days  that,  even  now,  I  can  recall  much  of  the 
language  in  which  he  told  it. 

"  Once,"  he  said,  "  there  was  a  boy  thet  hed 
59 


Eben   Holden 

two  gray  squirrels  in  a  cage.  They  kep' 
thinkin'  o'  the  time  they  used  t'  scamper  in  the 
tree  tops  an'  make  nests  an'  eat  all  the  nuts 
they  wanted  an'  play  I  spy  in  the  thick  leaves. 
An'  they  grew  poor  an'  looked  kind  o'  ragged 
an'  sickly  an'  downhearted.  When  he  brought 
'em  out  doors  they  used  t'  look  up  in  the  trees 
an'  run  in  the  wire  wheel  as  if  they  thought 
they  could  get  there  sometime  if  they  kep'  goin'. 
As  the  boy  grew  older  he  see  it  was  cruel  to 
keep  'em  shet  in  a  cage,  but  he'd  hed  em  a  long 
time  an'  couldn't  bear  t'  give  'em  up. 

"  One  day  he  was  out  in  the  woods  a  little 
back  o'  the  clearin'.  All  t'  once  he  heard  a  swift 
holler.  'Twas  nearby  an'  echoed  so  he  couldn't 
tell  which  way  it  come  from.  He  run  fer  home 
but  the  critter  ketched  'im  before  he  got  out  o' 
the  woods  an'  took  'im  into  a  cave,  an'  give  'im 
t'  the  little  swifts  t'  play  with.  The  boy  cried 
terrible.  The  swifts  they  laughed  an'  nudged 
each  other. 

"  '  O  aint  he  cute ! '  says  one.  '  He's  a 
beauty !  '  says  another.  '  Cur'us  how  he  can 
git  along  without  any  fur,'  says  the  mother 
swift,  as  she  run  'er  nose  over  'is  bare  foot.  He 
thought  of  'is  folks  waitin'  fer  him  an'  he 
begged  em  t'  let  'im  go.  Then  they  come  an' 
smelt  'im  over. 

60 


Eben  Holden 

" '  Yer  sech  a  cunnin'  critter,'  says  the 
mother  swift,  '  we  couldn't  spare  ye.' 

"  '  Want  to  see  my  mother,'  says  the  boy  sob- 
bing. 

"  '  Couldn't  afford  t'  let  ye  go — yer  so  cute  ' 
says  the  swift.  '  Bring  the  poor  critter  a  bone 
an'  a  bit  o'  snake  meat.' 

"  The  boy  couldn't  eat.  They  fixed  a  bed  fer 
him,  but  'twant  clean.  The  feel  uv  it  made  his 
back  ache  an'  the  smell  uv  it  made  him  sick  to 
his  stomach. 

"  '  When  the  swifts  hed  comp'ny  they'd  bring 
'em  over  t'  look  at  him  there  'n  his  dark  corner. 
"  "S  a  boy,'  said  the  mother  swift  pokin'  him 
with  a  long  stick.  '  Wouldn't  ye  like  t'  see 
'im  run  ? '  Then  she  punched  him  until  he 
got  up  an'  run  'round  the  cave  fer  his  life. 
Happened  one  day  et  a  very  benevolent  swift 
come  int'  the  cave. 

"  "S  a  pity  t'  keep  the  boy  here,'  said  he; 
'  he  looks  bad.' 

"  '  But  he  makes  fun  fer  the  children,'  said 
the  swift. 

"  'Fun  that  makes  misery  is  only  fit  fer  a 
fool,'  said  the  visitor. 

"  They  let  him  go  thet  day.  Soon  as  he  got 
hum  he  thought  o'  the  squirrels  an'  was  tickled 
t'  find  'em  alive.  He  tuk  'em  off  to  an  island, 
61 


Eben   Holden 

in  the  middle  of  a  big  lake,  thet  very  day,  an' 
set  the  cage  on  the  shore  n'  opened  it.  He 
thought  he  would  come  back  some  time  an'  see 
how  they  was  gittin'  along.  The  cage  was 
made  of  light  wire  an'  hed  a  tin  bottom 
fastened  to  a  big  piece  o'  plank.  At  fust  they 
was  'fraid  t'  leave  it  an'  peeked  out  o'  the  door 
an'  scratched  their  heads  's  if  they  thought  it 
a  resky  business.  After  awhile  one  stepped  out 
careful  an'  then  the  other  followed.  They  tried 
t'  climb  a  tree,  but  their  nails  was  wore  off  an' 
they  kep'  fallin'  back.  Then  they  went  off  'n 
the  brush  t'  find  some  nuts.  There  was  only 
pines  an'  popples  an'  white  birch  an'  a  few  berry 
bushes  on  the  island.  They  went  t'  the  water's 
edge  on  every  side,  but  there  was  nuthin  there 
a  squirrel  ud  give  a  flirt  uv  his  tail  fer.  'Twas 
near  dark  when  they  come  back  t'  the  cage 
hungry  as  tew  bears.  They  found  a  few  crumbs 
o'  bread  in  the  cup  an'  divided  'em  even.  Then 
they  went  t'  bed  'n  their  ol'  nest. 

"  It  hed  been  rainin'  a  week  in  the  mount'ins. 
Thet  night  the  lake  rose  a  foot  er  more  an' 
'fore  mornin'  the  cage  begun  t'  rock  a  teenty  bit 
as  the  water  lifted  the  plank.  They  slep'  all 
the  better  fer  thet  an'  they  dreamed  they  was 
up  in  a  tree  at  the  end  uv  a  big  bough.  The 
cage  begun  t'  sway  sideways  and  then  it  let  go 
62 


Eben   Holden 

o'  the  shore  an'  spun  'round  once  er  twice  an' 
sailed  out  'n  the  deep  water.  There  was  a  light 
breeze  blowin'  off  shore  an'  purty  soon  it  was 
pitchin'  like  a  ship  in  the  sea.  But  the  two 
squirrels  was  very  tired  an'  never  woke  up  'til 
sunrise.  They  got  a  terrible  scare  when  they 
see  the  water  'round  'em  an'  felt  the  motion  o' 
the  ship.  Both  on  'em  ran  into  the  wire  wheel 
an'  that  bore  down  the  stern  o'  the  ship  so  the 
under  wires  touched  the  water.  They  made  it 
spin  like  a  buzz  saw  an'  got  their  clothes  all  wet. 
The  ship  went  faster  when  they  worked  the 
wheel,  an'  bime  bye  they  got  tired  an'  come  out 
on  the  main  deck.  The  water  washed  over  it 
a  little  so  they  clim  up  the  roof  thet  was  a  kin' 
uv  a  hurricane  deck.  It  made  the  ship  sway  an' 
rock  fearful  but  they  hung  on  'midships,  an' 
clung  t'  the  handle  that  stuck  up  like  a  top  mast. 
Their  big  tails  was  spread  over  their  shoulders, 
an'  the  wind  rose  an'  the  ship  went  faster  'n 
faster.  They  could  see  the  main  shore  where 
the  big  woods  come  down  t'  the  water  'n'  all 
the  while  it  kep'  a  comin'  nearer  'n'  nearer. 
But  they  was  so  hungry  didn't  seem  possible 
they  could  live  to  git  there. 

"  Ye  know  squirrels  are  a  savin'  people.     In 
the  day  o' plenty  they  think  o'  the  day  o' poverty 
an'  lay  by  fer  it.  All  at  once  one  uv  'em  thought 
63 


Eben   Holden 

uv  a  few  kernels  o'  corn,  he  hed  pushed  through 
a  little  crack  in  the  tin  floor  one  day  a  long  time 
ago.  It  happened  there  was  quite  a  hole  under 
the  crack  an'  each  uv  'em  had  stored  some  ker- 
nels unbeknown  t'  the  other.  So  they  hed  a 
good  supper  'n'  some  left  fer  a  bite  'n  the 
mornin'.  'Fore  daylight  the  ship  made  her 
port  'n'  lay  to,  'side  uv  a  log  in  a  little  cove. 
The  bull  frogs  jumped  on  her  main  deck  an'  be- 
gun t'  holler  soon  as  she  hove  to .  '  all  ashore ! 
all  ashore!  all  ashore!'  The  two  squirrels 
woke  up  but  lay  quiet  'til  the  sun  rose.  Then 
they  come  out  on  the  log  'et  looked  like  a  long 
dock  an'  run  ashore  'n'  foun'  some  o'  their  own 
folks  in  the  bush.  An'  when  they  hed  tol'  their 
story  the  ol'  father  o'  the  tribe  got  up  'n  a  tree 
an'  hollered  himself  hoarse  preachin'  'bout  how 
't  paid  t'  be  savin'. 

An'  we  should  learn  t'  save  our  wisdom 
es  well  es  our  nuts,'  said  a  sassy  brother;  '  fer 
each  needs  his  own  wisdom  fer  his  own  affairs.' 

"  An  the  little  ship  went  back  'n'  forth  'cross 
the  cove  as  the  win'  blew.  The  squirrels  hed 
many  a  fine  ride  in  her  an'  the  frogs  were  the 
ferrymen.  An'  all  'long  thet  shore  'twas  known 
es  Frog  Ferry  'mong  the  squirrel  folks." 

It  was  very  dark  when  he  finished  the  tale  an' 
as  we  lay  gaping  a  few  minutes  after  my  last 
64 


Eben   Holden 

query  about  those  funny  people  of  the  lake  mar- 
gin I  could  hear  nothing  but  the  chirping  of 
the  crickets.  I  was  feeling  a  bit  sleepy  when  I 
heard  the  boards  creak  above  our  heads.  Uncle 
Eb  raised  himself  and  lay  braced  upon  his  elbow 
listening.  In  a  few  moments  we  heard  a  sound 
as  of  someone  coming  softly  down  the  ladder  at 
the  other  end  of  the  room.  It  was  so  dark  I 
could  see  nothing. 

"  Who's  there  ?  "  Uncle  Eb  demanded. 

"  Don't  pint  thet  gun  at  me,"  somebody 
whispered.  "  This  is  my  home  and  I  warn  ye  t' 
leave  it  er  I'll  do  ye  harm." 


65 


CHAPTER  V 

Here  I  shall  quote  you  again  from  the  diary 
of  Uncle  Eb.  "  It  was  so  dark  I  couldn't  see 
a  han'  before  me.  '  Don't  p'int  yer  gun  at  me,' 
the  man  whispered.  Thought  't  was  funny  he 
could  see  me  when  I  couldn't  see  him.  Said 
't  was  his  home  an'  we'd  better  leave.  Tol  him 
I  was  sick  (rumatiz)  an'  couldn't  stir.  Said 
he  was  sorry  an'  come  over  near  us.  Tol'  him 
I  was  an'  ol'  man  goin'  west  with  a  small  boy. 
Stopped  in  the  rain.  Got  sick.  Out  o'  purvis- 
ions.  'Bout  ready  t'  die.  Did'n  know  what  t' 
do.  Started  t'  strike  a  match  an'  the  man  said 
don't  make  no  light  cos  I  don't  want  to  hev  ye 
see  my  face.  Never  let  nobody  see  my  face. 
Said  he  never  went  out  'less  't  was  a  dark  night 
until  folks  was  abed.  Said  we  looked  like  good 
folks.  Scairt  me  a  little  cos  we  couldn't  see  a 
tiling.  Also  he  said  don't  be  'fraid  of  me.  Do 
what  I  can  fer  ye." 

I  remember  the  man  crossed  •  the  creaking 
floor  and  sat  down  near  us  after  he  had  par- 
leyed with  Uncle  Eb  awhile  in  whispers. 
Young  as  I  was  I  keep  a  vivid  impression  of 
66 


Eben  Holden 

that  night  and,  aided  by  the  diary  of  Uncle  Eb, 
I  have  made  a  record  of  what  was  said  that  is, 
in  the  main,  accurate. 

"  Do  you  know  where  you  are?  "  he  inquired 
presently,  whispering  as  he  had  done  before. 

"  I've  no  idee,"  said  Uncle  Eb. 

"  Well,  down  the  hill  is  Paradise  Valley  in 
the  township  o'  Faraway,"  he  continued.  "  It's 
the  end  o'  Paradise  road  an'  a  purty  country. 
Been  settled  a  long  time  an'  the  farms  are  big 
an'  prosperous — kind  uv  a  land  o'  plenty.  That 
big  house  at  the  foot  o'  the  hill  is  Dave 
Brower's.     He's  the  richest  man  in  the  valley." 

"  How  do  you  happen  t'  be  livin'  here  ? — if  ye 
don't  min'  tellin'  me,"  Uncle  Eb  asked. 

"  Crazy,"  said  he;  "  'Fraid  uv  everybody  an' 
everybody's  'fraid  o'  me.  Lived  a  good  long 
time  in  this  way.  Winters  I  go  into  the  big 
wroods.  Got  a  camp  in  a  big  cave  an'  when  I'm 
there  I  see  a  little  daylight.  Here  'n  the  clearin' 
I'm  only  up  in  the  night  time.  Thet's  how  I've 
come  to  see  so  well  in  the  dark.  It's  give  me 
cat's  eyes." 

"  Don't  ye  git  lonesome?  "  Uncle  Eb  asked. 

"  Awful — sometimes,"  he  answered  with  a 
sad  sigh,  "  an'  it  seems  good  t'  talk  with  some- 
body besides  myself.  I  get  enough  to  eat 
generally.  There  are  deer  in  the  woods  an' 
67 


Eben   Holden 

cows  in  the  fields,  ye  know,  an'  potatoes  an' 
corn  an'  berries  an'  apples,  an'  all  thet  kind  o' 
thing.  Then  I've  got  my  traps  in  the  woods 
where  I  ketch  patridges,  an'  squirrels  an'  coons 
an'  all  the  meat  I  need.  I've  got  a  place  in  the 
thick  timber  t'  do  my  cookin' — all  I  want  t'  do 
— in  the  middle  of  the.  night.  Sometimes  I 
come  here  an'  spend  a  day  in  the  garret  if  I'm 
caught  in  a  storm  or  if  I  happen  to  stay  a  little 
too  late  in  the  valley.  Once  in  a  great  while  I 
meet  a  man  somewhere  in  the  open  but  he 
always  gits  away  quick  as  he  can.  Guess  they 
think  I'm  a  ghost — dunno  what  I  think  o' 
them." 

Our  host  went  on  talking  as  if  he  were  glad 
to  tell  the  secrets  of  his  neart  to  some  creature 
of  his  own  kind.  I  have  often  wondered  at  his 
frankness;  but  there  was  a  fatherly  tenderness, 
I  remember  in  the  voice  of  Uncle  Eb,  and  I 
judge  it  tempted  his  confidence.  Probably  the 
love  of  companionship  can  never  be  so  dead  in 
a  man  but  that  the  voice  of  kindness  may  call  it 
back  to  life  again. 

"  I'll  bring  you  a  bite  t'  eat  before  morning," 
he  said,  presently,  as  he  rose  to  go.  "  Let  me 
feel  o'  your  han',  mister." 

Uncle  Eb  gave  him  his  hand  and  thanked 
him. 

68 


Ebcn  Holden 

"  Feels  good.  First  I've  hed  hold  of  in 
a  long  time,"  he  whispered. 

"  What's  the  day  o'  the  month  ?  " 

"  The  twenty-fifth." 

"  I  must  remember.  Where  did  you  come 
from?" 

Uncle  Eb  told  him,  briefly,  the  story  of  our 
going  west. 

"  Guess  you'd  never  do  me  no  harm — would 
ye?  "  the  man  asked. 

"  Not  a  bit,"  Uncle  Eb  answered. 

Then  he  bade  us  good-by,  crossed  the  creak- 
ing floor  and  went  away  in  the  darkness. 

"  Sing'lar  character !  "  Uncle  Eb  muttered. 

I  was  getting  drowsy  and  that  was  the  last 
I  heard.  In  the  morning  we  found  a  small  pail 
of  milk  sitting  near  us,  a  roasted  partridge,  two 
fried  fish  and  some  boiled  potatoes.  It  was 
more  than  enough  to  carry  us  through  the  day 
with  a  fair  allowance  for  Fred.  Uncle  Eb  was 
a  bit  better  but  very  lame  at  that  and  kept  to  his 
bed  the  greater  part  of  the  day.  The  time  went 
slow  with  me  I  remember.  Uncle  Eb  was  not 
cheerful  and  told  me  but  one  story  and  that  had 
no  life  in  it.  At  dusk  he  let  me  go  out  in  the 
road  to  play  awhile  with  Fred  and  the  wagon, 
but  came  to  the  door  and  called  us  in  shortly. 
I  went  to  bed  in  a  rather  unhappy  frame  of 
69 


Eben   Holden 

mind.  The  dog  roused  me  by  barking  in  the 
middle  of  the  night  and  I  heard  again  the  fa- 
miliar whisper  of  the  stranger. 

"  Sh-h-h!  be  still,  dog,"  he  whispered;  but  I 
was  up  to  my  ears  in  sleep  and  went  under 
shortly,  so  I  have  no  knowledge  of  what  passed 
that  night.  Uncle  Eb  tells  in  his  diary  that  he 
had  a  talk  with  him  lasting  more  than  an  hour, 
but  goes  no  further  and  never  seemed  willing 
to  talk  much  about  that  interview  or  others  that 
followed  it. 

I  only  know  the  man  had  brought  more 
milk  and  fish  and  fowl  for  us.  We  stayed 
another  day  in  the  old  house,  that  went  like  the 
last,  and  the  night  man  came  again  to  see  Uncle 
Eb.  The  next  morning  my  companion  was 
able  to  walk  more  freely,  but  Fred  and  I  had  to 
stop  and  wait  for  him  very  often  going  down 
the  big  hill.  I  was  mighty  glad  when  we  were 
leaving  the  musty  old  house  for  good  and  had 
the  dog  hitched  with  all  our  traps  in  the  wagon. 
It  was  a  bright  morning  and  the  sunlight 
glimmered  on  the  dew  in  the  broad  valley. 
The  men  were  just  coming  from  breakfast 
when  we  turned  in  at  David  Brower's.  A  bare- 
footed little  girl  a  bit  older  than  I,  with  red 
cheeks  and  blue  eyes  and  long  curly  hair,  that 


70 


Eben  Holden 

shone  like  gold  in  the  sunlight,  came  running 
out  to  meet  us  and  led  me  up  to  the  doorstep, 
highly  amused  at  the  sight  of  Fred  and  the 
wagon.  I  regarded  her  with  curiosity  and 
suspicion  at  first,  while  Uncle  Eb  was  talking 
with  the  men.  I  shall  never  forget  that  mo- 
ment when  David  Brower  came  and  lifted  me 
by  the  shoulders,  high  above  his  head,  and 
shook  me  as  if  to  test  my  mettle.  He  led  me 
into  the  house  then  where  his  wife  was  work- 
ing. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  this  small  bit  of  a 
boy?  "  he  asked. 

She  had  already  knelt  on  the  floor  and  put 
her  arms  about  my  neck  and  kissed  me. 

"  Ain'  no  home,"  said  he.  "  Come  all  the 
way  from  Vermont  with  an  ol'  man.  They're 
worn  out  both  uv  'em.  Guess  we'd  better  take 
'em  in  awhile." 

"  O  yes,  mother — please,  mother,"  put  in  the 
little  girl  who  was  holding  my  hand.  '"  He 
can  sleep  with  me,  mother.  Please  let  him 
stay." 

She  knelt  beside  me  and  put  her  arms  around 
my  little  shoulders  and  drew  me  to  her  breast 
and  spoke  to  me  very  tenderly. 

"  Please  let  him  stay,"  the  girl  pleaded  again. 


7i 


Ebcn  Holden 

"  David,"  said  the  woman,  "  I  couldn't 
turn  the  little  thing  away.  Won't  ye  hand  me 
those  cookies." 

And  so  our  life  began  in  Paradise  Valley. 
Ten  minutes  later  I  was  playing  my  first  game 
of  "  I  spy  "  with  little  Hope  Brower,  among  the 
fragrant  stooks  of  wheat  in  the  field  back  of  the 
garden. 


72 


CHAPTER  VI 

The  lone  pine  stood  in  Brower's  pasture, 
just  clear  of  the  woods.  When  the  sun  rose, 
one  could  see  its  taper  shadow  stretching  away 
to  the  foot  of  Woody  Ledge,  and  at  sunset  it  lay 
like  a  fallen  mast  athwart  the  cow  paths,  its 
long  top  arm  a  flying  pennant  on  the  side  of 
Bowman's  Hill.  In  summer  this  bar  of  shadow 
moved  like  a  clock-hand  on  the  green  dial  of  the 
pasture,  and  the  help  could  tell  the  time  by  the 
slant  of  it.  Lone  Pine  had  a  mighty  girth  at 
the  bottom,  and  its  bare  body  tapered  into  the 
sky  as  straight  as  an  arrow.  Uncle  Eb  used  to 
say  that  its  one  long,  naked  branch  that  swung 
and  creaked  near  the  top  of  it,  like  a  sign  of 
hospitality  on  the  highway  of  the  birds,  was 
two  hundred  feet  above  ground.  There  were 
a  few  stubs  here  and  there  upon  its  shaft — the 
roost  of  crows  and  owls  and  hen-hawks.  It 
must  have  passed  for  a  low  resort  in  the  feath- 
ered kingdom  because  it  was  only  the  robbers  of 
the  sky  that  halted  on  Lone  Pine. 

This  towering  shaft  of  dead  timber  com- 
memorated the  ancient  forest  through  which 
73 


Eben  Holden 

the  northern  Yankees  cut  their  trails  in  the  be- 
ginning of  the  century.  They  were  a  tall,  big 
fisted,  brawny  lot  of  men  who  came  across  the 
Adirondacks  from  Vermont,  and  began  to 
break  the  green  canopy  that  for  ages  had  cov- 
ered the  valley  of  the  St.  Lawrence.  Gener- 
ally they  drove  a  cow  with  them,  and  such 
game  as  they  could  kill  on  the  journey  supple- 
mented their  diet  of  "  pudding  and  milk." 
Some  settled  where  the  wagon  broke  or  where 
they  had  buried  a  member  of  the  family,  and 
there  they  cleared  the  forests  that  once  covered 
the  smooth  acres  of  to-day.  Gradually  the 
rough  surface  of  the  trail  grew  smoother  until 
it  became  Paradise  road — the  well-worn  thor- 
oughfare of  the  stage  coach  with  its  "  inns 
and  outs,"  as  the  drivers  used  to  say — the  inns 
where  the  "  men  folks  "  sat  in  the  firelight  of 
the  blazing  logs  after  supper  and  told  tales  of 
adventure  until  bed-time,  while  the  women  sat 
with  their  knitting  in  the  parlor,  and  the  young 
men  wrestled  in  the  stable  yard.  The  men  of 
middle  age  had  stooped  and  massive  shoulders, 
and  deep-furrowed  brows.  Tell  one  of  them 
he  was  growing  old  and  he  might  answer  you 
by  holding  his  whip  in  front  of  him  and  leaping 
over  it  between  his  hands. 

There  was  a  little  clearing  around  that  big 
74 


Eben  Holden 

pine  tree  when  David  B rower  settled  in  the  val- 
ley. Its  shadows  shifting  in  the  light  of  sun 
and  moon,  like  the  arm  of  a  compass,  swept  the 
spreading  acres  of  his  farm,  and  he  built  his 
house  some  forty  rods  from  the  foot  of  it  on 
higher  ground.  David  was  the  oldest  of  thir- 
teen children.  His  father  had  died  the  year 
before  he  came  to  St.  Lawrence  county,  leaving 
him  nothing  but  heavy  responsibilities.  Fortu- 
nately, his  great  strength  and  his  kindly  nature 
were  equal  to  the  burden.  Mother  and  children 
were  landed  safely  in  their  new  home  on  Bow- 
man's Hill  the  day  that  David  was  eighteen.  I 
have  heard  the  old  folks  of  that  country  tell 
what  a  splendid  figure  of  a  man  he  was  those 
days — six  feet  one  in  his  stockings  and  broad  at 
the  shoulder.  His  eyes  were  gray  and  set 
under  heavy  brows.  I  have  never  forgotten 
the  big  man  that  laid  hold  of  me  and  the  broad 
clean-shaven  serious  face,  that  looked  into  mine 
the  day  I  came  to  Paradise  Valley.  As  I  write 
I  can  see  plainly  his  dimpled  chin,  his  large 
nose,  his  firm  mouth  that  was  the  key  to  his 
character.  "  Open  or  shet,"  I  have  heard  the 
old  folks  say,  "  it  showed  he  was  no  fool." 

After  two  years  David  took  a  wife  and  set- 
tled in  Paradise  Valley.     He   prospered   in    a 
small   way  considered  handsome  thereabouts. 
75 


Eben  Holden 

In  a  few  years  he  had  cleared  the  rich  acres  of 
his  farm  to  the  sugar  bush  that  was  the  north 
vestibule  of  the  big  forest;  he  had  seen  the 
clearing  widen  until  he  could  discern  the  bare 
summits  of  the  distant  hills,  and,  far  as  he  could 
see,  were  the  neat  white  houses  of  the  settlers. 
Children  had  come,  three  of  them — U:e  eldest 
a  son  who  had  left  home  and  died  in  a  far  coun- 
try long  before  we  came  to  Paradise  Valley — 
the  youngest  a  baby. 

I  could  not  have  enjoyed  my  new  home  more 
if  I  had  been  born  in  it.  I  had  much  need  of  a 
mother's  tenderness,  no  doubt,  for  I  remember 
with  what  a  sense  of  peace  and  comfort  I  lay  on 
the  lap  of  Elizabeth  Brower,  that  first  evening, 
and  heard  her  singing  as  she  rocked.  The  little 
daughter  stood  at  her  knees,  looking  down  at 
me  and  patting  my  bare  toes  or  reaching  over 
to  feel  my  face. 

"  God  sent  him  to  us — didn't  he,  mother?  " 
said  she. 

"  Maybe,"  Mrs.  Brower  answered,  "  we'll  be 
good  to  him,  anyway." 

Then  that  old  query  came  into  my  mind.  I 
asked  them  if  it  was  heaven  where  we  were. 

"  No,"  they  answered. 

"  Taint  any  where  near  here,  is  it?  "  I  went 
on. 

76 


Eben  Holden 

Then  she  told  me  about  the  gate  of  death,  and 
began  sowing  in  me  the  seed  of  God's  truth — 
as  I  know  now  the  seed  of  many  harvests.  I 
slept  with  Uncle  Eb  in  the  garret,  that  night, 
and  for  long  after  we  came  to  the  Brower's. 
He  continued  to  get  better,  and  was  shortly  able 
to  give  his  hand  to  the  work  of  the  farm. 

There  was  room  for  all  of  us  in  that  ample 
wilderness  of  his  imagnation,  and  the  cry  of  the 
swift  woke  its  echoes  every  evening  for  a  time. 
Bears  and  panthers  prowled  in  the  deep  thick- 
ets, but  the  swifts  took  a  firmer  grip  on  us,  be- 
ing bolder  and  more  terrible.  Uncle  Eb  be- 
came a  great  favorite  in  the  family,  and  David 
Brower  came  to  know  soon  that  he  was  "  a  good 
man  to  work  "  and  could  be  trusted  "  to  look 
after  things."  We  had  not  been  there  long 
when  I  heard  Elizabeth  speak  of  Nehemiah — 
her  lost  son — and  his  name  was  often  on  the 
lips  of  others.  He  was  a  boy  of  sixteen  when 
he  went  away,  and  I  learned  no  more  of  him  un- 
til long  afterwards. 

A  month  or  more  after  we  came  to  Faraway, 
I  remember  we  went  'cross  lots  in  a  big  box 
wagon  to  the  orchard  on  the  hill  and  gathered 
apples  that  fell  in  a  shower  when  Uncle  Eb  went 
up  to  shake  them  down.  Then  came  the  raw 
days  of  late  October,  when  the  crows  went  fly- 
77 


Eben  Holden 

ing  southward  before  the  wind — a  noisy  pirate 
fleet  that  filled  the  sky  at  times — and  when  we 
all  put  on  our  mittens  and  went  down  the  wind- 
ing cow  paths  to  the  grove  of  butternuts  in  the 
pasture.  The  great  roof  of  the  wilderness  had 
turned  red  and  faded  into  yellow.  Soon  its 
rafters  began  to  show  through,  and  then,  in  a 
day  or  two,  they  were  all  bare  but  for  some 
patches  of  evergreen.  Great,  golden  drifts  of 
foliage  lay  higher  than  a  man's  head  in  the 
timber  land  about  the  clearing.  We  had  our 
best  fun  then,  playing  "  I  spy  "  in  the  groves. 

In  that  fragrant  deep  of  leaves  one  might  lie 
undiscovered  a  long  time.  He  could  hear  roar- 
ing like  that  of  water  at  every  move  of  the 
finder,  wallowing  nearer  and  nearer  possibly, 
in  his  search.  Old  Fred  came  generally  rooting 
his  way  to  us  in  the  deep  drift  with  unerring 
accuracy. 

And  shortly  winter  came  out  of  the  north  and, 
of  a  night,  after  rapping  at  the  windows  and 
howling  in  the  chimney  and  roaring  in  the  big 
woods,  took  possession  of  the  earth.  That  was 
a  time  when  hard  cider  flowed  freely  and  recol- 
lection found  a  ready  tongue  among  the  older 
folk,  and  the  young  enjoyed  many  diversions, 
including  measles  and  whooping  cough. 


78 


CHAPTER  VII 

I  had  a  lot  of  fun  that  first  winter,  but  none 
that  I  can  remember  more  gratefully  than  our 
trip  in  the  sled  house — a  tight  little  house  fitted 
and  fastened  to  a  big  sled.  Uncle  Eb  had  to  go 
to  mill  at  Hillsborough,  some  twelve  miles 
away,  and  Hope  and  I,  after  much  coaxing  and 
many  family  counsels,  got  leave  to  go  with  him. 
The  sky  was  cloudless,  and  the  frosty  air  was 
all  aglow  in  the  sunlight  that  morning  we 
started.  There  was  a  little  sheet  iron  stove  in 
one  corner  of  the  sled  house,  walled  in  with 
zinc  and  anchored  with  wires;  a  layer  of  hay 
covered  the  floor  and  over  that  we  spread  our 
furs  and  blankets.  The  house  had  an  open 
front,  and  Uncle  Eb  sat  on  the  doorstep,  as  it 
were,  to  drive,  while  we  sat  behind  him  on  the 
blankets. 

"  I  love  you  very  much,"  said  Hope,  em- 
bracing me,  after  we  were  seated.  Her  af- 
fection embarrassed  me,  I  remember.  It 
seemed  unmanly  to  be  petted  like  a  doll. 

"  I  hate  to  be  kissed,"  I  said,  pulling  away 
from  her,  at  which  Uncle  Eb  laughed  heartily. 
79 


Eben  Holden 

The  day  came  when  I  would  have  given  half 
my  life  for  the  words  I  held  so  cheaply  then. 

"  You'd  better  be  good  t'  me,"  she  answered, 
"  for  when  mother  dies  I'm  goin'  t'  take  care  o* 
you.  Uncle  Eb  and  Gran'ma  Bisnette  an'  you 
an'  everybody  I  love  is  goin'  t'  come  an'  live 
with  me  in  a  big,  big  house.  An'  I'm  goin'  t' 
put  you  t'  bed  nights  an'  hear  ye  say  yer  pray- 
ers an'  everything." 

"  Who'll  do  the  spankin'  ?  "  Uncle  Eb  asked. 

"  My  husban',"  she  answered,  with  a  sigh  at 
the  thought  of  all  the  trouble  that  lay  before 
her.  , 

"  An'  I'll  make  him  rub  your  back,  too, 
Uncle  Eb,"  she  added. 

"  Wall,  I  ruther  guess  he'll  object  to  that," 
said  he. 

"  Then  you  can  give  'im  five  cents,  an'  I 
guess  he'll  be  glad  t'  do  it,"  she  answered 
promptly. 

"  Poor  man !  He  won't  know  whether  he's 
runnin'  a  poorhouse  er  a  hospital,  will  he?  " 
saidUncle  Eb.  "Look  here, children,"  he  added, 
taking  out  his  old  leather  wallet,  as  he  held  the 
reins  between  his  knees.  "  Here's  tew  shillin' 
apiece  for  ye,  an'  I  want  ye  t'  spend  it  jest 
eggsackly  as  ye  please."  The  last  words  were 
spoken  slowly  and  with  emphasis. 
80 


Eben    Holden 

We  took  the  two  silver  pieces  that  he  handed 
to  us  and  looked  them  all  over  and  compared 
them. 

"  I  know  what  I'll  do,"  said  she,  suddenly. 
"  I'm  goin'  t'  buy  my  mother  a  new  dress,  or 
mebbe  a  beautiful  ring,"  she  added  thought- 
fully. 

For  my  own  part  I  did  not  know  what  I 
should  buy.  I  wanted  a  real  gun  most  of  all 
and  my  inclination  oscillated  between  that  and 
a  red  rocking  horse.  My  mind  was  very  busy 
while  I  sat  in  silence.  Presently  I  rose  and 
went  to  Uncle  Eb  and  whispered  in  his  ear. 

"  Do  you  think  I  could  get  a  real  rifle  with 
two  shillin'  ?  "  I  inquired  anxiously. 

"  No,"  he  answered  in  a  low  tone  that  seemed 
to  respect  my  confidence.  "  Bime  by,  when 
you're  older,  I'll  buy  ye  a  rifle — a  real  rip  snort- 
er, too,  with  a  shiny  barrel  'n  a  silver  lock. 
When  ye  get  down  t'  the  village  ye'll  see  lots 
o'  things  y'd  ruther  hev,  prob'ly.  If  I  was  you, 
children,"  he  added,  in  a  louder  tone,  "  I 
wouldn't  buy  a  thing  but  nuts  'n'  raisins." 

"  Nuts  'n'  raisins !  "  Hope  exclaimed,  scorn- 
fullv. 

"  Nuts  'n'  raisins,"  he  repeated.  "  They're 
cheap  'n'  satisfyin'.  If  ye  eat  enough  uv  'em 
you'll  never  want  anything  else  in  this  world." 
81 


Eben  Holden 

I  failed  to  see  the  irony  in  Uncle  Eb's  remark 
and  the  suggestion  seemed  to  have  a  good  deal 
of  merit,  the  more  I  thought  it  over. 

"  'T  any  rate,"  said  Uncle  Eb,  "  I'd  git  some- 
thin'  fer  my  own  selves. 

"  Well,"  said  Hope,  "  You  tell  us  a  lot  o' 
things  we  could  buy." 

"  Less  see  !"  said  Uncle  Eb,  looking  very 
serious.  "  There's  bootjacks  an'  there's  warm- 
in'  pans  'n'  mustard  plasters  'n'  liver  pads  'n' 
all  them  kind  o'  things." 

We  both  shook  our  heads  very  doubtfully. 

"  Then,"  he  added,  "  there  are  jimmyjacks 
'n'  silver  no  nuthin's." 

There  were  many  other  suggestions  but  none 
of  them  were  decisive. 

The  snow  lay  deep  on  either  side  of  the  way 
and  there  was  a  glimmer  on  every  white  hill- 
side where  Jack  Frost  had  sown  his  diamonds. 
Here  and  there  a  fox  track  crossed  the  smooth 
level  of  the  valley  and  dwindled  on  the  distant 
hills  like  a  seam  in  a  great  white  robe.  It  grew 
warmer  as  the  sun  rose,  and  we  were  a  jolly 
company  behind  the  merry  jingle  of  the  sleigh 
bells.  We  had  had  a  long  spell  of  quiet  weather 
and  the  road  lay  in  two  furrows  worn  as 
smooth  as  ice  at  the  bottom. 

"  Consarn  it !  "  said  Uncle  Eb,  looking  up 
82 


Eben  Holden 

at  the  sky,  after  we  had  been  on  the  road  an 
hour  or  so.  "  There's  a  sun  dog.  Wouldn't 
wonder  if  we  got  a  snowstorm'  fore  night." 

I  was  running  behind  the  sled  and  standing 
on  the  brake  hooks  going  down  hill.  He  made 
me  get  in  when  he  saw  the  sun  dog,  and  let  our 
horse — a  rat-tailed  bay  known  as  Old  Doctor — 
go  at  a  merry  pace. 

We  were  awed  to  silence  when  we  came  in 
sight  of  Hillsborough,  with  spires  looming  far 
into  the  sky,  as  it  seemed  to  me  then,  and  build- 
ings that  bullied  me  with  their  big  bulk,  so  that 
I  had  no  heart  for  the  spending  of  the  two  shil- 
lings Uncle  Eb  had  given  me.  Such  sublimity 
of  proportion  I  have  never  seen  since  ;  and  yet 
it  was  all  very  small  indeed.  The  stores  had 
a  smell  about  them  that  was  like  chloroform 
in  its  effect  upon  me;  for,  once  in  them,  I  fell 
into  a  kind  of  trance  and  had  scarce  sense 
enough  to  know  my  own  mind.  The  smart 
clerks,  who  generally  came  and  asked,  "  Well, 
young  man,  what  can  I  do  for  you?"  I  re- 
garded with  fear  and  suspicion.  I  clung  the 
tighter  to  my  coin  always,  and  said  nothing, 
although  I  saw  many  a  trinket  whose  glitter 
went  to  my  soul  with  a  mighty  fascination.  We 
both  stood  staring  silently  at  the  show  cases, 
our  tongues  helpless  with  awe  and  wonder. 
83 


Eben  Holden 

Finally,   after  a  whispered  conference,   Hope 
asked  for  a  "  silver  no  nothing,"  and  provoked- 
so  much  laughter  that  we  both  fled  to  the  side- 
walk.    Uncle  Eb  had  to  do  our  buying  for  us 
in  the  end. 

"  Wall,  what'll  ye  hev  ?  "  he  said  to  me  at 
length. 

I  tried  to  think — it  was  no  easy  thing  to  do 
after  all  1  had  seen. 

"  Guess  I'll  take  a  jacknife,"  I  whispered. 

"  Give  this  boy  a  knife,"  he  demanded. 
"  Wants  t'  be  good  'n  sharp.  Might  hev  t' 
skin  a  swift  with  it  some  time." 

"  What  ye  want?  "  he  asked,  then  turning  to 
Hope. 

"  A  doll,"  she  whispered. 

"  White  or  black?  "  said  he. 

"  White,"  said  she,  "  with  dark  eyes  and 
hair." 

"  Want  a  reel,  splendid,  firs'-class  doll,"  he 
said  to  the  clerk.  "  Thet  one'll  do,  there,  with 
the  sky  blue  dress  'n  the  pink  apron." 

We  were  worn  out  with  excitement  when  we 
left  for  home  under  lowering  skies.  We  chil- 
dren lay  side  by  side  under  the  robes,  the  doll 
between  us,  and  were  soon  asleep.  It  was 
growing  dark  when  Uncle  Eb  woke  us,  and  the 
84 


Eben  Holden 

snow  was  driving  in  at  the  doorway.  The 
air  was  full  of  snow,  I  remember,  and  Old  Doc- 
tor was  wading  to  his  knees  in  a  drift.  We 
were  up  in  the  hills  and  the  wind  whistled  in 
our  little  chimney.  Uncle  Eb  had  a  serious 
look  in  his  face.  The  snow  grew  deeper  and 
Old  Doctor  went  slower  every  moment. 

"  Six  mild  from  home,"  Uncle  Eb  muttered, 
as  he  held  up  to  rest  a  moment.  "  Six  mild 
from  home.     'Fraid  we're  in  fer  a  night  uv  it." 

We  got  to  the  top  of  Fadden's  Hill  about 
dark,  and  the  snow  lay  so  deep  in  the  cut  we 
all  got  out  for  fear  the  house  would  tip  over. 
Old  Doctor  floundered  along  a  bit  further  until 
he  went  down  in  the  drift  and  lay  between  the 
shafts  half  buried.  We  had  a  shovel  that 
always  hung  beside  a  small  hatchet  in  the  sled 
house — for  one  might  need  much  beside  the 
grace  of  God  of  a  winter's  day  in  that  country 
— and  with  it  Uncle  Eb  began  to  uncover  the 
horse.  We  children  stood  in  the  sled  house 
door  watching  him  and  holding  the  lantern. 
Old  Doctor  was  on  his  feet  in  a  few  minutes. 

"  'Tain'  no  use  tryin',"  said  Uncle  Eb,  as  he 
began  to  unhitch.  "  Can't  go  no  further  t'- 
night." 

Then  he  dug  away  the  snow  beside  the  sled 
house,  and  hitched  Old  Doctor  to  the  horse- 
85 


Eben  Holden 

shoe  that  was  nailed  to  the  rear  end  of  it.  That 
done,  he  clambered  up  the  side  of  the  cut  and 
took  some  rails  off  the  fence  and  shoved  them 
over  on  the  roof  of  the  house,  so  that  one  end 
rested  there  and  the  other  on  the  high  bank  be- 
side us.  Then  he  cut  a  lot  of  hemlock  boughs 
with  the  hatchet,  and  thatched  the  roof  he  had 
made  over  Old  Doctor,  binding  them  with  the 
reins.  Bringing  more  rails,  he  leaned  them  to 
the  others  on  the  windward  side  and  nailed  a 
big  blanket  over  them,  piecing  it  out  with  hem- 
lock thatching,  so  it  made  a  fairly  comfortable 
shelter.  We  were  under  the  wind  in  this  deep 
cut  on  Fadden's  Hill,  and  the  snow  piled  in 
upon  us  rapidly.  We  had  a  warm  blanket  for 
Old  Doctor  and  two  big  buffalo  robes  for  our 
own  use.  We  gave  him  a  good  feed  of  hay  and 
oats,  and  then  Uncle  Eb  cut  up  a  fence  rail 
with  our  hatchet  and  built  a  roaring  fire  in  the 
stove.  We  had  got  a  bit  chilly  wading  in  the 
snow,  and  the  fire  gave  us  a  mighty  sense  of 
comfort. 

"  I  thought  somethin'  might  happen,"  said 
Uncle  Eb,  as  he  hung  his  lantern  to  the  ridge 
pole  and  took  a  big  paper  parcel  out  of  his  great 
coat  pocket.  "  I  thought  mebbe  somethin' 
might  happen,  an'  so  I  brought  along  a  bite  o' 
luncheon." 

86 


Eben  Holden 

He  gave  us  dried  herring  and  bread  and  but- 
ter and  cheese. 

'  'S  a  little  dry,"  he  remarked,  while  we 
were  eating,  "  but  it's  dryer  where  there's 
none." 

We  had  a  pail  of  snow  on  top  of  the  little 
stove  and  plenty  of  good  drinking  water  for 
ourselves  and  the  Old  Doctor  in  a  few  minutes. 

After  supper  Uncle  Eb  went  up  the  side  of 
the  cut  and  brought  back  a  lot  of  hemlock 
boughs  and  spread  them  under  Old  Doctor  for 
bedding. 

Then  we  all  sat  around  the  stove  on  the 
warm  robes  and  listened  to  the  wind  howling 
above  our  little  roof  and  the  stories  of  Uncle 
Eb.  The  hissing  of  the  snow  as  it  beat  upon 
the  sled  house  grew  fainter  by  and  by,  and 
Uncle  Eb  said  he  guessed  we  were  pretty  well 
covered  up.  We  fell  asleep  soon.  I  remember 
he  stopped  in  the  middle  of  a  wolf  story,  and, 
seeing  that  our  eyes  were  shut,  pulled  us  back 
from  the  fire  a  little  and  covered  us  with  one  of 
the  robes.  It  had  been  a  mighty  struggle  be- 
tween Sleep  and  Romance,  and  Sleep  had  won. 
I  roused  myself  and  begged  him  to  go  on  with 
the  story,  but  he  only  said,  '  Hush,  boy  ;  it's 
bedtime,"  and  turned  up  the  lantern  and  went 
out  of  doors.  I  woke  once  or  twice  in  the 
87 


Eben  Holden 

night  and  saw  him  putting-  wood  on  the  fire. 
He  had  put  out  the  light.  The  gleam  of  the 
fire  shone  on  his  face  when  he  opened  the  stove 
door. 

"  Gittin'  a  leetle  cool  here,  Uncle  Eb,"he  was 
saying  to  himself. 

We  were  up  at  daylight,  and  even  then  it 
was  snowing  and  blowing  fiercely.  There 
were  two  feet  of  snow  on  the  sled  house 
rcof,  and  we  were  nearly  buried  in  the  bank. 
Uncle  Eb  had  to  do  a  lot  of  shoveling  to  get 
out  of  doors  and  into  the  stable.  Old  Doctor 
was  quite  out  of  the  wind  in  a  cave  of  snow  and 
nickering  for  his  breakfast.  There  was  plenty 
for  him,  but  we  were  on  short  rations.  Uncle 
Eb  put  on  the  snow  shoes,  after  we  had  eaten 
what  there  was  left,  and,  cautioning  us  to  keep 
in,  set  out  for  Fadden's  across  lots.  He  came 
back  inside  of  an  hour  with  a  good  supply  of 
provisions  in  a  basket  on  his  shoulder.  The 
wind  had  gone  down  and  the  air  was  milder. 
Big  flakes  of  snow  came  fluttering  slowly 
downward  out  of  a  dark  sky.  After  dinner 
we  went  up  on  top  of  the  sled  house  and  saw 
a  big  scraper  coming  in  the  valley  below.  Six 
teams  of  oxen  were  drawing  it,  and  we  could 
see  the  flying  furrows  on  either  side  of  the 
scraper  as  it  plowed  in  the  deep  drifts.  Uncle 
88 


Eben  Holden 

Eb  put  on  the  snow  shoes  again,  and,  with 
Hope  on  his  back  and  me  clinging  to  his  hand, 
he  went  down  to  meet  them  and  to  tell  of 
our  plight.  The  front  team  had  wallowed  to 
their  ears,  and  the  men  were  digging  them  out 
with  shoveis  when  we  got  to  the  scraper.  A 
score  of  men  and  boys  clung  to  the  sides  of  that 
big,  hollow  wedge,  and  put  their  weight  on  it 
as  the  oxen  pulled.  We  got  on  with  the  others, 
I  remember,  and  I  was  swept  off  as  soon  as  the 
scraper  started  by  a  roaring  avalanche  of  snow 
that  came  down  upon  our  heads  and  buried  me 
completely.  I  was  up  again  and  had  a  fresh 
hold  in  a  jiffy,  and  clung  to  my  place  until  I 
was  nearly  smothered  by  the  flying  snow.  It 
was  great  fun  for  me,  and  they  were  all  shout- 
ing and  hallooing  as  if  it  were  a  fine  holiday. 
They  made  slow  progress,  however,  and  we 
left  them  shortly  on  their  promise  to  try  to 
reach  us  before  night.  If  they  failed  to  get 
through,  one  of  them  said  he  would  drive  over 
to  Paradise  Valley,  if  possible,  and  tell  the 
Browers  we  were  all  right. 

On  our  return,  Uncle  Eb  began  shoveling  a 
tunnel  in  the  cut.  When  we  got  through  to 
the  open  late  in  the  afternoon  we  saw  the  scra- 
per party  going  back  with  their  teams. 

"  Guess  they've  gi'n  up  fer  t'-day,"  said  he. 


Eben  Holden 

"  Snow's  powerful  deep  down  there  below  the 
bridge.  Mebbe  we  can  get  'round  to  where 
the  road's  clear  by  goin'  'cross  lois.  I've  a 
good  mind  t5  try  it." 

Then  he  went  over  in  the  field  and  picked  a 
winding  way  down  the  hill  toward  the  river, 
while  we  children  stood  watching  him.  He 
came  back  soon  and  took  down  a  bit  of  the  fence 
and  harnessed  Old  Doctor  and  hitched  him  to 
the  sled  house.  The  tunnel  was  just  wide 
enough  to  let  us  through  with  a  tight  pinch  here 
and  there.  The  footing  was  rather  soft,  and  the 
horse  had  hard  pulling.  We  went  in  the  field, 
struggling  on  afoot — we  little  people — while 
Uncle  Eb  led  the  horse.  He  had  to  stop  fre- 
quently to  tunnel  through  a  snowdrift,  and  at 
dusk  we  had  only  got  half  way  to  the  bridge 
from  our  cave  in  the  cut.  Ot  a  sudden  Old 
Doctor  went  up  to  his  neck  in  a  wall  of  deep 
snow  that  seemed  to  cut  us  off  completely.  He 
struggled  a  moment,  falling  on  his  side  and 
wrenching  the  shafts  from  the  runners.  Uncle 
Eb  went  to  work  vigorously  with  his  shovel 
and  had  soon  cut  a  narrow  box  stall  in  the  deep 
snow  around  Old  Doctor.  Just  beyond  the  hill 
dipped  sharply  and  clown  the  slope  we  could  see 
the  stubble  sticking  through  the  shallow  snow. 


90 


Vi 


Eben  Holden 

"  We'll   hev   t'    stop   right  where  we  are  until 
mornin',"  he  said.     "  It's  mos'  dark  now." 

Our  little  house  stood  tilting  forward  about 
half  way  down  the  hill,  its  runners  buried  in 
the  snow.  A  few  hundred  yards  below  was  a 
cliff  where  the  shore  fell  to  the  river  some  thirty 
feet.  It  had  stopped  snowing,  and  the  air  had 
grown  warmer,  but  the  sky  was  dark.  We 
put  nearly  all  the  hay  in  the  sled  house  under 
Old  Doctor  and  gave  him  the  last  of  the  oats 
and  a  warm  cover  of  blankets.  Then  Uncle 
Eb  went  away  to  the  fence  for  more  wood, 
while  we  spread  the  supper.  He  was  very 
tired,  I  remember,  and  we  all  turned  in  for  the 
night  a  short  time  after  we  had  eaten.  The 
little  stove  was  roaring  like  a  furnace  when  we 
spread  our  blankets  on  the  sloping  floor  and 
lay  down,  our  feet  to  the  front,  and  drew  the 
warm  robes  over  us.  Uncle  Eb,  who  had  had 
no  sleep  the  night  before,  began  to  snore  heav- 
ily before  we  children  had  stopped  whispering. 
He  was  still  snoring,  and  Hope  sound  asleep, 
when  I  woke  in  the  night  and  heard  the  rain 
falling  on  our  little  roof  and  felt  the  warm 
breath  of  the  south  wind.  The  water  drip- 
ping from  the  eaves  and  falling  far  and  near 
upon  the  yielding  snow  had  many  voices.     I 


91 


Eben  Holden 

was  half  asleep  when  I  heard  a  new  noise  under 
the  sled.  Something  struck  the  front  corner  of 
the  sled  house — a  heavy,  muffled  blow — and 
brushed  the  noisy  boards.  Then  I  heard  the 
timbers  creak  and  felt  the  runners  leaping  over 
the  soft  snow.  I  remember  it  was  like  a  dream 
of  falling.  I  raised  myself  and  stared  about  me. 
We  were  slipping  down  the  steep  floor.  The 
lantern,  burning  dimly  under  the  roof,  swung 
and  rattled.  Uncle  Eb  was  up  on  his  elbow 
staring  wildly.  I  could  feel  the  jar  and  rush  of 
the  runners  and  the  rain  that  seemed  to  roar  as 
it  dashed  into  my  face.  Then,  sudddenly,  the 
sled  house  gave  a  great  leap  into  the  air  and  the 
grating  of  the  runners  ceased.  The  lantern 
went  hard  against  the  roof;  there  was  a  mighty 
roar  in  my  ears  ;  then  we  heard  a  noise  like 
thunder  and  felt  the  shock  of  a  blow  that  set 
my  back  aching,  and  cracked  the  roof  above 
our  heads.  It  was  all  still  for  a  second ;  then 
we  children  began  to  cry,  and  Uncle  Eb  stag- 
gered to  his  feet  and  lit  the  lantern  that  had 
gone  out  and  that  had  no  globe,  I  remember, 
as  he  held  it  down  to  our  faces. 

"  Hush !  Are  you  hurt  ?  "  he  said,  as  he 
knelt  before  us.  "  Git  up  now,  see  if  ye  can 
stand." 

We  got  to  our  feet,  neither  of  us  much  the 
92 


Eben  Holden 

worse  for  what  had  happened.  My  knuckles 
were  cut  a  bit  by  a  splinter,  and  Hope  had  been 
hit  on  the  shins  by  the  lantern  globe  as  it  fell. 

By  the  Lord  Harry !  "  said  Uncle  Eb,  when 
he  saw  we  were  not  hurt.  "  Wonder  what 
hit  us." 

We  followed  him  outside  while  he  was 
speaking. 

"We've  slid  down  hill,"  he  said.  "Went 
over  the  cliff.  Went  kerplunk  in  the  deep 
snow,  er  there'd  have  been  nuthin'  left  uv  us. 
Snow's  meltin'  jest  as  if  it  was  July." 

Uncle  Eb  helped  us  into  our  heavy  coats,  and 
then  with  a  blanket  over  his  arm  led  us  into  the 
wet  snow.  We  came  out  upon  clear  ice  in  a 
moment  and  picked  our  way  along  the  lower- 
ing shore.  At  length  Uncle  Eb  clambered  up, 
pulling  us  up  after  him,  one  by  one.  Then  he 
whistled  to  Old  Doctor,  who  whinnied  a  quick 
reply.  He  left  us  standing  together,  the 
blanket  over  our  heads,  and  went  away  in  the 
dark  whistling  as  he  had  done  before.  We 
could  hear  Old  Doctor  answer  as  he  came  near, 
and  presently  Uncle  Eb  returned  leading  the 
horse  by  the  halter.  Then  he  put  us  both  on  Old 
Doctor's  back,  threw  the  blanket  over  our  heads, 
and  started  slowly  for  the  road.  We  clung 
to  each  other  as  the  horse  staggered  in  the  soft 
93 


Eben  Holden 

snow,  and  kept  our  places  with  some  aid  from 
Uncle  Eb.  We  crossed  the  fence  presently, 
and  then  for  a  way  it  was  hard  going.  We 
found  fair  footing  after  we  had  passed  the  big 
scraper,  and,  coining  to  a  house  a  mile  or  so 
down  the  road  called  them  out  of  bed.  It  was 
growing  light  and  they  made  us  comfortable 
around  a  big  .stove,  and  gave  us  breakfast.  The 
good  man  of  the  house  took  us  home  in  a  big 
sleigh  after  the  chores  were  done.  We  met 
David  Brower  coming  after  us,  and  if  we'd 
been  gone  a  year  we  couldn't  have  received  a 
warmer  welcome. 


94 


CHAPTER  VIII 

Of  all  that  long  season  of  snow,  I  remember 
most  pleasantly  the  days  that  were  sweetened 
with  the  sugar-making.  When  the  sun  was 
lifting  his  course  in  the  clearing  sky,  and  March 
had  got  the  temper  of  the  lamb,  and  the  frozen 
pulses  of  the  forest  had  begun  to  stir,  the  great 
kettle  was  mounted  in  the  yard  and  all  gave  a 
hand  to  the  washing  of  spouts  and  buckets. 
Then  came  tapping  time,  in  which  I  helped 
carry  the  buckets  and  tasted  the  sweet  flow  that 
followed  the  auger's  wound.  The  woods  were 
merry  with  our  shouts,  and,  shortly,  one  could 
hear  the  heart-beat  of  the  maples  in  the  sound- 
ing bucket.  It  was  the  reveille  of  spring.  Tow- 
ering trees  shook  down  the  gathered  storms  of 
snow  and  felt  for  the  sunlight.  The  arch  and 
shanty  were  repaired,  the  great  iron  kettle 
was  scoured  and  lifted  to  its  place,  and  then 
came  the  boiling.  It  was  a  great,  an  inestima- 
ble privilege  to  sit  on  the  robes  of  faded  fur,  in 
the  shanty,  and  hear  the  fire  roaring  under  the 
kettle  and  smell  the  sweet  odor  of  the  boiling 
sap.  Uncle  Eb  minded  the  shanty  and  the  fire 
95 


Eben  Holden 

and  the  woods  rang  with  his  merry  songs. 
When  I  think  of  that  phase  of  the  sugaring,  I 
am  face  to  face  with  one  of  the  greatest  perils 
of  my  life.  My  foster  father  had  consented 
to  let  me  spend  a  night  with  Uncle  Eb  in  the 
shanty,  and  I  was  to  sleep  on  the  robes,  where 
he  would  be  beside  me  when  he  was  not  tend- 
ing the  fire.  It  had  been  a  mild,  bright  day, 
and  David  came  up  with  our  supper  at  sunset. 
He  sat  talking  with  Uncle  Eb  for  an  hour  or 
so,  and  the  woods  were  darkling  when  he  went 
away. 

When  he  started  on  the  dark  trail  that  led  to 
the  clearing,  I  wondered  at  his  courage — it  was 
so  black  beyond  the  firelight.  While  we  sat 
alone  I  plead  for  a  story,  but  the  thoughts  of 
Uncle  Eb  had  gone  to  roost  early  in  a  sort  of 
gloomy  meditation. 

"  Be  still,  my  boy,"  said  he,  "  an'  go  t'  sleep. 
I  aint  agoin'  t'  tell  no  yarns  an'  git  ye  all  stirred 
up.  Ye  go  t'  sleep.  Come  mornin'  we'll  go 
down  t'  the  brook  an'  see  if  we  can't  find  a  mink 
or  tew  'n  the  traps." 

I  remember  hearing  a  great  crackling  of 
twigs  in  the  dark  wood  before  I  slept.  As  I 
lifted  my  head,  Uncle  Eb  whispered,  "  Hark! 
and  we  both  listened.  A  bent  and  aged  figure 
came  stalking  into  the  firelight.  His  long 
96 


Eben  Holden 

white  hair  mingled  with  his  beard  and  covered 
his  coat  collar  behind. 

"  Don't  be  scairt,"  said  Uncle  Eb.  "  'Tain' 
no  bear.     It's  nuthin'  but  a  poet." 

I  knew  him  for  a  man  who  wandered  much 
and  had  a  rhyme  for  every  one — a  kindly  man 
with  a  reputation  for  laziness  and  without 
any  home. 

"  Bilin',  eh  ?  "  said  the  poet. 

"  Bilin',"  said  Uncle  Eb. 

"  I'm  bilin'  over  'n  the  next  bush,"  said  the 
poet,  sitting  down. 

"How's  everything  in  Jingleville  ?  "  Uncle 
Eb  inquired. 

Then  the  newcomer  answered  : 

Well,  neighbor  dear,  in  Jingleville 

We  live  by  faith  but  we  eat  our  fill; 

An'  what  w'u'd  we  do  if  it  wa'n't  fer  prayer  ? 

Fer  we  can't  raise  a  thing  but  whiskers  an'  hair. 

"  Cur'us  how  you  can  talk  po'try,"  said 
Uncle  Eb.  "  The  only  thing  I've  got  agin 
you  is  them  whiskers  an'  thet  hair.  'Taint 
Christian." 

"  'Taint  what's  on  the  head,  but  what's 
in  it — thet's  the  important  thing,"  said  the 
poet.  "  Did  I  ever  tell  ye  what  I  wrote  about 
the  birds?" 

97 


Eben  Holden 

"  Don'  know's  ye  ever  did,"  said  Uncle  Eb, 
stirring  his  fire. 

"  The  boy'll  like  it,  mebbe,"  said  he,  taking  a 
dirty  piece  of  paper  out  of  his  pocket  and  hold- 
ing it  to  the  light. 

The  poem  interested  me,  young  as  I  was,  not 
less  than  the  strange  figure  of  the  old  poet  who 
lived  unknown  in  the  backwoods,  and  who  died, 
I  dare  say,  with  many  a  finer  song  in  his  heart. 
I  remember  how  he  stood  in  the  firelight  and 
chanted  the  words  in  a  sing-song  tone.  He 
gave  us  that  rude  copy  of  the  poem,  and  here 
it  is  : 

THE  ROBIN'S  WEDDING. 

Young  robin  red  breast  hed  a  beautiful  nest  an'  he  says 

to  his  love  says  he : 
It's  ready  now  on  a  rocking  bough 
In  the  top  of  a  maple  tree. 
I've  lined  it  with  down  an'   the  velvet  brown  on  the 

waist  of  a  bumble  bee. 

They  were  married  next  day,  in  the  land  o'  the  hay,  the 

lady  bird  an'  he. 
The  bobolink  came  an'  the  wife  o'  the  same 
An'  the  lark  an'  the  fiddle  de  dee. 
An'  the  crow  came  down  in  a  minister  gown — there  was 

nothing  that  he  didn't  see. 

He  fluttered  his  wing  as  they  ast  him  to  sing  an'  he 

tried  fer  if  clear  out  his  throat; 
He  hemmed  an'  he  hawed  an'  he  hawked  an'  he  cawed 
But  he  couldn't  deliver  a  note. 
98 


Eben   Holden 

The  swallow  was  there  an'  he  ushered  each  pair  with  his 
linsey  an'  claw  hammer  coat. 

The  bobolink  tried  fer  t'  flirt  with  the  bride  in  a  way  thet 

was  sassy  an'  bold. 
An'  the  notes  that  he  took  as  he  shivered  an'  shook 
Hed  a  sound  like  the  jingle  of  gold. 
He  sat  on  a  briar  an'  laughed  at  the  choir  an'  said  thet 

the  music  was  old. 

The  sexton  he  came— Mr.    Spider  by  name— a  citizea 

hairy  and  gray. 
His  rope  in  a  steeple,  he  called  the  good  people 
That  live  in  the  land  o'  the  hay. 
The  ants  an'  the  squgs  an'  the  crickets  an'  bugs— came 

out  in  a  mighty  array. 

Some  came  down  from  Barleytown  an'  the  neighboring 

city  o'  Rye. 
An'  the  little  black  people  they  climbed  every  steeple 
An'  sat  looking  up  at  the  sky. 
They  came  fer  t'  see  what  a  wedding  might  be  an'  they 

furnished  the  cake  an'  the  pie. 

I  remember  he  turned  to  me  when  he  had 
finished  and  took  one  of  my  small  hands  and 
held  it  in  his  hard  palm  and  looked  at  it  and 
then  into  my  face. 

"  Ah,  boy  1"  he  said,  "  your  way  shall  lead 
you  far  from  here,  and  you  shall  get  learning 
and  wealth  and  win  many  victories." 

"  What     nonsense  are     you     talking,     Jed 
Feary  ?  "  said  Uncle  Eb. 
99 


Eben   Holden 

"  O,  you  all  think  I'm  a  fool  an'  a  humbug, 
'cos  I  look  it.  Why,  Eben  Holden,  if  you  was 
what  ye  looked,  ye'd  be  in  the  presidential  chair. 
Folks  here  'n  the  valley  think  o'  nuthin'  but 
hard  work — most  uv  'em,  an'  I  tell  ye  now  this 
boy  ain't  a  goin'  t'  be  wuth  putty  on  a  farm. 
Look  a'  them  slender  hands. 

"  There  was  a  man  come  to  me  the  other  day 
an'  wanted  t'  hev  a  poem  'bout  his  wife  that  hed 
jes,  died.     I  ast  him  t'  tell  me  all  'bout  her. 

"  '  Wall,'  said  he,  after  he  had  scratched 
his  head  an'  thought  a  minute,  '  she  was  a 
dretful  good  woman  t'  work.' 

"  '  Anything  else?  '  I  asked. 

"  He  thought  agin  fer  a  minute. 

"  '  Broke  her  leg  once,'  he  said,  '  an'  was 
laid  up  fer  more'n  a  year.' 

"  '  Must  o'  suffered,'  said  I. 

"  '  Not  then,'  he  answered.  '  Ruther  en- 
joyed it  layin'  abed  an'  readin'  an'  bein'  rubbed, 
but 't  was  hard  on  the  children.' 

"  '  S'pose  ye  loved  her,'  I  said. 

"  Then  the  tears  come  into  his  eyes  an'  he 
couldn't  speak  fer  a  minute.  Purty  soon  he 
whispered  '  Yes  '  kind  o'  confidential.  '  Course 
he  loved  her,  but  these  Yankees  are  ashamed  o' 
their  feelin's.  They  hev  tender  thoughts,  but 
they  hide  'em  as  careful  as  the  wild  goose  hides 


Eben   Holden 

her  eggs.  I  wrote  a  poem  t'  please  him,  an' 
goin'  home  I  made  up  one  fer  myself,  an'  it  run 
'bout  like  this : 

O  give  me  more  than  a  life,  I  beg, 

That  finds  real  joy  in  a  broken  leg. 

Whose  only  thought  is  t'  work  an'  save 

An'  whose  only  rest  is  in  the  grave. 

Saving  an'  scrimping  from  day  to  day 

While  its  best  it  has  squandered  an'  flung  away 

Fer  a  life  like  that  of  which  I  tell 

Would  rob  me  quite  o'  the  dread  o'  hell. 

"  Toil  an'  slave  an'  scrimp  an'  save — thet's 
'bout  all  we  think  uv  'n  this  country.  'Tain't 
right,  Holden." 

"  No,  'tain't  right,"  said  Uncle  Eb. 

"  I  know  I'm  a  poor,  mis'rable  critter. 
Kind  o'  out  o'  tune  with  everybody  I  know. 
Ahvus  quarreled  with  my  own  folks,  an'  now 
I  ain't  got  any  home.  Some  day  I'm  goin' t'  die 
in  the  poorhouse  er  on  the  ground  under  these 
woods.  But  I  tell  ye  " — here  he  spoke  in  a 
voice  that  grew  loud  with  feeling — "  mebbe  I've 
been  lazy,  as  they  say,  but  I've  got  more 
out  o'  my  life  than  any  o'  these  fools.  And 
some  day  God  '11  honor  me  far  above  them. 
When  my  wife  an'  I  parted  I  wrote  some 
lines  that  say  well  my  meaning.  It  was  only 
a  log  house   we  had,  but  this  will  show  what  I 

T°T 


Eben  Holden 

got  out  of  it."     Then  he  spoke  the  lines,  his 
voice  trembling  with  emotion. 

O  humble  home !    Thou  hadst  a  secret  door 
Thro'  which  I  looked,  betimes,  with  wondering  eye 
On  treasures  that  no  palace  ever  wore 
But  now — good-by! 

In  hallowed  scenes  what  feet  have  trod  thy  stage  ! 
The  babe,  the  maiden,  leaving  home  to  wed 
The  young  man  going  forth  by  duty  led 
And  faltering  age. 

Thou  hadst  a  magic  window  broad  and  high 
The  light  and  glory  of  the  morning  shone 
Thro'  it,  however  dark  the  day  had  grown, 
Or  bleak  the  sky. 

"  I  know  Dave  Brower's  folks  hev  got  brains 
an'  decency,  but  when  thet  boy  is  old  enough  t' 
take  care  uv  himself,  let  him  git  out  o'  this 
country.  I  tell  ye  he'll  never  make  a  farmer, 
an'  if  he  marries  an'  settles  down  here  he'll  git 
t'  be  a  poet,  mebbe,  er  some  such  shif 'less  cuss, 
an'  die  in  the  poorhouse.  Guess  I  better  git 
back  t'  my  bilin'  now.  Good-night,"  he  added, 
rising  and  buttoning  his  old  coat  as  he  walked 
away. 

"  Sing'lar  man  !  "  Uncle  Eb  exclaimed, 
thoughtfully,  "  but  anyone  thet  picks  him  up 
fer  a  fool'll  find  him  a  counterfeit." 

Young  as  I  was,  the  rugged,  elemental  power 


Eben  Holden 

of  the  old  poet  had  somehow  got  to  my  heart 
and  stirred  my  imagination.  It  all  came  not 
fully  to  my  understanding  until  later.  Little 
by  little  it  grew  upon  me,  and  what  an  effect  it 
had  upon  my  thought  and  life  ever  after  I 
should  not  dare  to  estimate.  And  soon  I  sought 
out  the  "  poet  of  the  hills,"  as  they  called  him, 
and  got  to  know  and  even  to  respect  him  in 
spite  of  his  unlovely  aspect. 

Uncle  Eb  skimmed  the  boiling  sap,  put  more 
wood  on  the  fire  and  came  and  pulled  off  his 
boots  and  lay  down  beside  me  under  the  robe. 
And,  hearing  the  boil  of  the  sap  and  the  crackle 
of  the  burning  logs  in  the  arch,  I  soon  went 
asleep. 

I  remember  feeling  Uncle  Eb's  hand  upon  my 
cheek,  and  how  I  rose  and  stared  about  me  in 
the  fading  shadows  of  a  dream  as  he  shook  me 
gently. 

"  Wake  up,  my  boy,"  said  he.  "  Come,  we 
mus'  put   fer  home." 

The  fire  was  out.  The  old  man  held  a  lan- 
tern as  he  stood  before  me,  the  blaze  flickering. 
There  was  a  fearsome  darkness  all  around. 

"  Come,  Willy,  make  haste,"  he  whispered, 
as  I  rubbed  my  eyes.  "  Put  on  yer  boots,  an' 
here's  yer  little  coat  'n'  muffler." 

There  was  a  mighty  roar  in  the  forest  and  icy 
*°3 


Eben  Holden 

puffs  of  snow  came  whistling  in  upon  us.  We 
stored  the  robes  and  pails  and  buckets  and  cov- 
ered the  big  kettle. 

The  lofty  tree  tops  reeled  and  creaked  above 
us,  and  a  deep,  sonorous  moan  was  sweeping 
through  the  woods,  as  if  the  fingers  of  the  wind 
had  touched  a  mighty  harp  string  in  the  tim- 
ber. We  could  hear  the  crash  and  thunder  of 
falling  trees. 

"  Make  haste  !  Make  haste  !  It's  resky 
here,"  said  Uncle  Eb,  and  he  held  my  hand  and 
ran.  We  started  through  the  brush  and  steered 
as  straight  as  we  could  for  the  clearing.  The 
little  box  of  light  he  carried  was  soon  sheathed 
in  snow,  and  I  remember  how  he  stopped,  half 
out  of  breath,  often,  and  brushed  it  with  his 
mittens  to  let  out  the  light.  We  had  made  the 
scattering  growth  of  little  timber  at  the  edge 
of  the  woods  when  the  globe  of  the  lantern 
snapped  and  fell.  A  moment  later  we  stood  in 
utter  darkness.  I  knew,  for  the  first  time,  then 
that  we  were  in  a  bad  fix. 

"  I  guess  God'll  take  care  of  us,  Willy,"  said 
Uncle  Eb.  "  If  he  don't,  we'll  never  get  there 
in  this  world — never!  " 

It  was  a  black  and  icy  wall  of  night  and 
storm  on  every  side  of  us.  I  never  saw  a  time 
when  the  light  of  God's  heaven  was  so  utterly 
104 


Eben  Holden 

extinguished  ;  the  cold  never  went  to  my  bone 
as  on  that  bitter  night.  My  hands  and  feet  were 
numb  with  aching,  as  the  roar  of  the  trees 
grew  fainter  in  the  open.  I  remember  how  I 
lagged,  and  how  the  old  man  urged  me  on,  and 
how  we  toiled  in  the  wind  and  darkness,  strain- 
ing our  eyes  for  some  familiar  thing.  Of  a 
sudden  we  stumbled  upon  a  wall  that  we  had 
passed  an  hour  or  so  before. 

"  Oh !  "  he  groaned,  and  made  that  funny, 
deprecating  cluck  with  his  tongue,  that  I  have 
heard  so  much  from  Yankee  lips. 

"God  o'  mercy!"  said  he,  "we've  gone 
'round  in  a  half  circle.  Now  we'll  take  the 
wall  an'  mebbe  it'll  bring  us  home." 

I  thought  I  couldn't  keep  my  feet  any  longer, 
for  an  irresistible  drowsiness  had  come  over 
me.  The  voice  of  Uncle  Eb  seemed  far  away, 
and  when  I  sank  in  the  snow  and  shut  my  eyes 
to  sleep  he  shook  me  as  a  terrier  shakes  a  rat. 

"  Wake  up,  my  boy,"  said  he,  "  ye  musn't 
sleep." 

Then  he  boxed  my  ears  until  I  cried,  and 
picked  me  up  and  ran  with  me  along  the  side 
of  the  wall.  I  was  but  dimly  conscious  when 
he  dropped  me  under  a  tree  whose  bare  twigs 
lashed  the  air  and  stung  my  cheeks.  I  heard 
him  tearing  the  branches  savagely  and  mntter- 
i°5 


Eben  Holden 

ing,  "Thanks  to  God,  it's  the  blue  beech."  I 
shall  never  forget  how  he  turned  and  held  to  my 
hand  and  put  the  whip  on  me  as  I  lay  in  the 
snow,  and  how  the  sting  of  it  started  my  blood. 
Up  I  sprang  in  a  jiffy  and  howled  and. danced. 
The  stout  rod  bent  and  circled  on  me  like  a 
hoop  of  fire.  Then  I  turned  and  tried  to  run 
while  he  clung  to  my  coat  tails,  and  every  step 
I  felt  the  stinging  grab  of  the  beech.  There  is 
a  little  seam  across  my  cheek  to-day  that  marks 
a  footfall  of  one  of  those  whips.  In  a  moment 
I  was  as  wide  awake  as  Uncle  Eb  and  needed 
no  more  stimulation. 

The  wall  led  us  to  the  pasture  lane,  and  there 
it  was  easy  enough  to  make  our  way  to  the 
barnyard  and  up  to  the  door  of  the  house, 
which  had  a  candle  in  every  window,  I  remem- 
ber. David  was  up  and  dressed  to  come  after 
us,  and  I  recall  how  he  took  Uncle  Eb  in  his 
arms,  when  he  fell  fainting  on  the  doorstep, 
and  carried  him  to  the  lounge.  I  saw  the 
blood  on  my  face  as  I  passed  the  mirror,  and 
Elizabeth  Brower  came  running  and  gave  me 
one  glance  and  rushed  out  of  doors  with  the 
dipper.  It  was  full  of  snow  when  she  ran  in 
and  tore  the  wrappings  off  my  neck  and  began 
to  rub  my  ears  and  cheeks  with  the  cold  snow, 
calling  loudly  for  Grandma  Bisnette.  She  came 
106 


Eben  Holden 

in  a  moment  and  helped  at  the  stripping  of 
our  feet  and  legs.  I  remember  that  she  slit  my 
trousers  with  the  shears  as  I  lay  on  the  floor, 
while  the  others  rubbed  my  feet  with  the  snow. 
Our  hands  and  ears  were  badly  frosted,  but  in 
an  hour  the  whiteness  had  gone  out  of  them 
and  the  returning  blood  burnt  like  a  fire. 

"  How  queer  he  stares!  "  I  heard  them  say 
when  Uncle  Eb  first  came  to,  and  in  a  moment 
a  roar  of  laughter  broke  from  him. 

"  I'll  never  fergit,"  said  he  presently,  "  if 
I  live  a  thousan'  years,  the  lickin'  I  gin  thet 
boy  ;  but  it  hurt  me  worse'n  it  hurt  him." 

Then  he  told  the  story  of  the  blue  beech. 

The  next  day  was  that  "  cold  Friday  "  long 
remembered  by  those  who  felt  its  deadly  chill — 
a  day  when  water  thrown  in  the  magic  air  came 
down  in  clinking  crystals,  and  sheaths  of  frost 
lay  thick  upon  the  windows.  But  that  and  the 
one  before  it  were  among  the  few  days  in  that 
early  period  that  lie,  like  a  rock  under  my  char- 
acter. 


107 


CHAPTER    IX 

Grandma  Bisnette  came  from  Canada  to 
work  for  the  Browers.  She  was  a  big,  cheer- 
ful woman,  with  a  dialect,  an  amiable  disposi- 
tion and  a  swarthy,  wrinkled  face.  She  had  a 
loose  front  tooth  that  occupied  all  the  leisure  of 
her  tongue.  When  she  sat  at  her  knitting  this 
big  tooth  clicked  incessantly.  On  every  stitch 
her  tongue  went  in  and  out  across  it,  and  I, 
standing  often  by  her  knees,  regarded  the  pro- 
cess with  great  curiosity. 

The  reader  may  gather  much  from  these 
frank  and  informing  words  of  Grandma  Bis- 
nette. "  When  I  los'  my  man,  Mon  Dieu !  I 
have  two  son.  An'  when  I  come  across  I  bring 
him  with  me.  Abe  he  rough;  but  den  he  no 
bad  man." 

Abe  was  the  butcher  of  the  neighborhood — 
that  red  handed,  stony  hearted,  necessary  man 
whom  the  Yankee  farmer  in  that  north  country 
hires  to  do  the  cruel  things  that  have  to  be  done. 
He  wore  ragged,  dirty  clothes  and  had  a  voice 
like  a  steam  whistle.  His  rough,  black  hair  fell 
low  and  mingled  with  his  scanty  beard.  His 
1 08 


Eben  Holden 

hands  were  stained  too  often  with  the  blood  of 
some  creature  we  loved.  I  always  crept  under 
the  bed  in  Mrs.  Brower's  room  when  Abe  came 
— he  was  such  a  terror  to  me  with  his  bloody 
work  and  noisy  oaths.  Such  men  were  the 
curse  of  the  cleanly  homes  in  that  country. 
There  was  much  to  shock  the  ears  and  eyes  of 
children  in  the  life  of  the  farm.  It  was  a  fashion 
among  the  help  to  decorate  their  speech  with 
profanity  for  the  mere  sound  of  it,  and  the  foul 
mouthings  of  low  minded  men  spread  like  a 
pestilence  in  the  fields. 

Abe  came  always  with  an  old  bay  horse  and 
a  rickety  buckboard.  His  one  foot  on  the  dash, 
as  he  rode,  gave  the  picture  a  dare-devil  finish. 
The  lash  of  his  bull-whip  sang  around  him,  and 
his  great  voice  sent  its  blasts  of  noise  ahead. 
When  we  heard  a  fearful  yell  and  rumble  in  the 
distance,  we  knew  Abe  was  coming. 

"  Abe  he  come,"  said  Grandma  Bisnette. 
"  Mon  Dieu!  he  make  de  leetle  rock  fly." 

It  was  like  the  coming  of  a  locomotive  with 
roar  of  wheel  and  whistle.  In  my  childhood, 
as  soon  as  I  saw  the  cloud  of  dust,  I  put  for  the 
bed  and  from  its  friendly  cover  would  peek  out, 
often,  but  never  venture  far  until  the  man  of 
blood  had  gone. 

To  us  children  he  was  a  marvel  of  wicked- 
109 


Eben  Holden 

ness.  There  were  those  who  told  how  he  had 
stood  in  the  storm  one  night  and  dared  the  Al- 
mighty to  send  the  lightning  upon  him. 

The  dog  Fred  had  grown  so  old  and  infirm 
that  one  day  they  sent  for  Abe  to  come  and  put 
an  end  to  his  misery.  Every  man  on  the  farm 
loved  the  old  dog  and  not  one  of  them  would 
raise  a  hand  to  kill  him.  Hope  and  I  heard 
what  Abe  was  coming  to  do,  and  when  the  men 
had  gone  to  the  fields,  that  summer  morning, 
we  lifted  Fred  into  the  little  wagon  in  which  he 
had  once  drawn  me  and  starting  back  of  the 
barn  stole  away  with  him  through  the  deep 
grass  of  the  meadow  until  we  came  out  upon 
the  highroad  far  below.  We  had  planned  to 
take  him  to  school  and  make  him  a  nest  in  the 
woodshed  where  he  could  share  our  luncheon 
and  be  out  of  the  way  of  peril.  After  a  good 
deal  of  difficulty  and  heavy  pulling  we  got  to 
the  road  at  last.  The  old  dog,  now  blind  and 
helpless,  sat  contentedly  in  the  wagon  while  its 
wheels  creaked  and  groaned  beneath  him.  We 
had  gone  but  a  short  way  in  the  road  when  we 
heard  the  red  bridge  roar  under  rushing  wheels 
and  the  familiar  yell  of  Abe. 

"  We'd  better  run,"  said  Hope,  "  'er  we'll  git 
swore  at." 

I  looked  about  me  in  a  panic  for  some  place 
no 


Eben  Holden 

to  hide  the  party,  but  Abe  was  coming  fast  and 
there  was  only  time  to  pick  up  clubs  and  stand 
our  ground. 

"  Here!  "  the  man  shouted  as  he  pulled  up 
along  side  of  us,  "  where  ye  goin'  with  that 
dog?" 

"  Go  'way,"  I  answered,  between  anger  and 
tears,  lifting  my  club  in  a  threatening  manner. 

He  laughed  then — a  loud  guffaw  that  rang  in 
the  near  woods. 

"  What'll  ye  give  me,"  he  asked  leaning  for- 
ward, his  elbows  on  his  knees,  "  What'll  ye  give 
me  if  I  don't  kill  him?" 

I  thought  a  moment.  Then  I  put  my  hand 
in  my  pocket  and  presently  took  out  my  jack- 
knife — that  treasure  Uncle  Eb  had  bought  for 
me — and  looked  at  it  fondly. 

Then  I  offered  it  to  him. 

Again  he  laughed  loudly. 

"  Anything  else  ?  "  he  demanded  while  Hope 
sat  hugging  the  old  dog  that  was  licking  her 
hands. 

"  Got  forty  cents  that  I  saved  for  the  fair," 
said  I  promptly. 

Abe  backed  his  horse  and  turned  in  the  road. 

"  Wall  boy,"  he  said,  "  Tell  'em  I've  gone 
home." 

Then  his  great  voice  shouted  "  g'lang  "  the 


Eben  Holden 

lash  of  his  whip  sang  in  the  air  and  off  he 
went. 

We  were  first  to  arrive  at  the  schoolhouse, 
that  morning,  and  when  the  other  children 
came  we  had  Fred  on  a  comfortable  bed  of  grass 
in  a  corner  of  the  woodshed.  What  with  all 
the  worry  of  that  day  I  said  my  lessons  poorly 
and  went  home  with  a  load  on  my  heart.  To- 
morrow would  be  Saturday;  how  were  we  to 
get  food  and  water  to  the  dog  ?  They  asked  at 
home  if  we  had  seen  old  Fred  and  we  both  de- 
clared we  had  not — the  first  lie  that  ever  laid 
its  burden  on  my  conscience.  We  both  saved 
all  our  bread  and  butter  and  doughnuts  next 
day,  but  we  had  so  many  chores  to  do  it  was 
impossible  to  go  to  the  schoolhouse  with  them. 
So  we  agreed  to  steal  away  that  night  when  all 
were  asleep  and  take  the  food  from  its  hiding 
place. 

In  the  excitement  of  the  day  neither  ot  us  had 
eaten  much.  They  thought  we  were  ill  and  sent 
us  to  bed  early.  When  Hope  came  into  my 
room  above  stairs  late  in  the  evening  we  were 
both  desperately  hungry.  We  looked  at  our 
store  of  doughnuts  and  bread  and  butter  under 
my  bed.     We  counted  it  over. 

"  Won't  you  try  one  o'  the  doughnuts,"  I 
whispered  hoping  that  she  would  say  yes  so 


Eben  Holden 

that  I  could  try  one  also;  for  they  did  smell 
mighty  good. 

"  'Twouldn't  be  right,"  said  she  regret- 
fully. "  There  aint  any  more  'n  he'll  want 
now." 

"  'Twouldn't  be  right,"  I  repeated  with  a 
sigh  as  I  looked  longingly  at  one  of  the  big 
doughnuts.  "  Couldn't  bear  t'  do  it — could 
you  ?  " 

"  Don't  seem  as  if  I  could,"  she  whispered, 
thoughtfully,  her  chin  upon  her  hand. 

Then  she  rose  and  went  to  the  window. 

"  O  my !  how  dark  it  is !  "  she  whispered, 
looking  out  into  the  night. 

"  Purty  dark!  "  I  said,  "  but  you  needn't  be 
'fraid.  I'll  take  care  o'  you.  If  we  should 
meet  a  bear  I'll  growl  right  back  at  him — that's 
what  Uncle  Eb  tol'  me  t'  do.  I'm  awful  stout 
— most  a  man  now!     Can't  nuthin' .scare  me." 

We  could  hear  them  talking  below  stairs  and 
we  went  back  to  bed,  intending  to  go  forth  later 
when  the  house  was  still.  But,  unfortunately 
for  our  adventure,  I  fell  asleep.  • 

It  was  morning  when  I  opened  my  eyes 
again.  We  children  looked  accusingly  at  each 
other  while  eating  breakfast.  Then  we  had  to 
be  washed  and  dressed  in  our  best  clothes  to  go 
to  meeting.  When  the  wagon  was  at  the  door 
n3 


Eben   Holden 

and  we  were  ready  to  start  I  had  doughnuts  and 
bread  and  butter  in  every  pocket  of  my  coat  and 
trousers.  I  got  in  quickly  and  pulled  the 
blanket  over  me  so  as  to  conceal  the  fullness 
of  my  pockets.  We  arrived  so  late  I  had  no 
chance  to  go  to  the  dog  before  we  went  into 
meeting.  I  was  wearing  boots  that  were  too 
small  for  me,  and  when  I  entered  with  the 
others  and  sat  down  upon  one  of  those  straight 
backed  seats  of  plain,  unpainted  pine  my  feet 
felt  as  if  I  had  been  caught  in  a  bear  trap. 
There  was  always  such  a  silence  in  the  room 
aftei  the  elder  had  sat  down  and  adjusted  his 
spectacles  that  I  could  hear  the  ticking  of  the 
watch  he  carried  in  the  pocket  of  his  broad- 
cloth waistcoat.  For  my  own  part  I  know  I 
looked  with  too  much  longing  for  the  good  of 
my  soul  on  the  great  gold  chain  that  spanned 
the  broad  convexity  of  his  stomach.  Presently 
I  observed  that  a  couple  of  young  women  were 
looking  at  me  and  whispering.  Then  suddenly 
I  became  aware  that  there  were  sundry  protu- 
berances on  my  person  caused  by  bread  and 
butter  and  doughnuts,  and  I  felt  very  miserable 
indeed.  Now  and  then  as  the  elder  spoke  the 
loud,  accusing  neigh  of  some  horse,  tethered  to 
the  fence  in  the  schoolyard,  mingled  with  his 
thunder.  After  the  good  elder  had  been 
114 


Eben  Holden 

preaching  an  hour  his  big,  fat  body  seemed  to 
swim  in  my  tears.  When  he  had  finished  the 
choir  sang.  Their  singing  was  a  thing  that  ap- 
pealed to  the  eye  as  well  as  the  ear.  Uncle  Eb 
used  to  say  it  was  a  great  comfort  to  see  Elke- 
nah  Samson  sing  bass.  His  great  mouth  opened 
widely  in  this  form  of  praise  and  his  eyes  had  a 
wild  stare  in  them  when  he  aimed  at  the  low 
notes.  y 

Ransom  Walker,  a  man  of  great  dignity, 
with  a  bristling  mustache,  who  had  once  been  a 
schoolmaster,  led  the  choir  and  carried  the 
tenor  part.  It  was  no  small  privilege  after  the 
elder  had  announced  the  hymn,  to  see  him  rise 
and  tap  the  desk  with  his  tuning  fork  and  hold 
it  to  his  ear  solemnly.  Then  he  would  seem  to 
press  his  chin  full  hard  upon  his  throat  while 
he  warbled  a  scale.  Immediately,  soprano,  alto, 
bass  and  tenor  launched  forth  upon  the  sea  of 
song.  The  parts  were  like  the  treacherous  and 
conflicting  currents  of  a  tide  that  tossed  them 
roughly  and  sometimes  overturned  their  craft. 
And  Ransom  Walker  showed  always  a  proper 
sense  of  danger  and  responsibility.  Generally 
they  got  to  port  safely  on  these  brief  excur- 
sions, though  exhausted.  He  had  a  way  of 
beating  time  with  his  head  while  singing  and  I 
have  no  doubt  it  was  a  great  help  to  him. 
ri5 


Eben  Holden 

The  elder  came  over  to  me  after  meeting, 
having-  taken  my  tears  for  a  sign  of  conviction. 

"  May  the  Lord  bless  and  comfort  you,  my 
boy !  "  said  he. 

I  got  away  shortly  and  made  for  the  door. 
Uncle  Eb  stopped  me. 

"  My  stars,  Willie !  "  said  he  putting  his  hand 
on  my  upper  coat  pocket,  "  what  ye  got  in 
there?" 

"  Doughnuts,"  I  answered. 

"  An  what's  this?  "  he  asked  touching  one  of 
my  side  pockets. 

"  Doughnuts,"  I  repeated. 

"  An'  this,"  touching  another. 

"  That's  doughnuts  too,"  I  said. 

"  An'  this,"  he  continued  going  down  to  my 
trousers  pocket. 

"  Bread  an'   butter,"    I   answered,   shame- 
facedly, and  on  the  verge  of  tears. 

"Jerusalem ! "  he  exclaimed, "  must  a  'spected 
a  purty  long  sermon." 

"  Brought  'em  fer  ol'  Fred,"  I  replied. 

"  Ol'  Fred!  "  he  whispered,  "  where's  he?  " 

I  told  my  secret  then  and  we  both  went  out 
with  Hope  to  where  we  had  left  him.  He  lay 
with  his  head  between  his  paws  on  the  bed  of 
grass  just  as  I  had  seen  him  lie  many  a  time 
when  his  legs  were  weary  with  travel  on  Para- 
116 


Eben   Holden 

dise  road,  and  when  his  days  were  yet  full  of 
pleasure.  We  called  to  him  and  Uncle  Eb 
knelt  and  touched  his  head.  Then  he  lifted  the 
dog's  nose,  looked  a  moment  into  the  sightless 
eyes  and  let  it  fall  again. 

"  Fred's  gone,"  said  he  in  a  low  tone  as  he 
turned  away.  "  Got  there  ahead  uv  us, 
Willy." 

Hope  and  I  sat  down  by  the  old  dog  and  wept 
bitterly. 


117 


CHAPTER  X 

Uncle  Eb  was  a  born  lover  of  fun.  But  he 
had  a  solemn  way  of  fishing  that  was  no  credit 
to  a  cheerful  man.  It  was  the  same  when  he 
played  the  bass  viol,  but  that  was  also  a  kind 
of  fishing  at  which  he  tried  his  luck  in  a  roaring 
torrent  of  sound.  Both  forms  of  dissipation 
gave  him  a  serious  look  and  manner,  that  came 
near  severity.  They  brought  on  his  face  only 
the  light  of  hope  and  anticipation  or  the  shadow 
of  disappointment. 

We  had  finished  our  stent  early  the  day  of 
which  I  am  writing.  When  we  had  dug  our 
worms  and  were  on  our  way  to  the  brook  with 
pole  and  line  a  squint  of  elation  had  hold  of 
Uncle  Eb's  face.  Long  wrinkles  deepened  as 
he  looked  into  the  sky  for  a  sign  of  the  weather, 
and  then  relaxed  a  bit  as  he  turned  his  eyes 
upon  the  smooth  sward.  It  was  no  time  for 
idle  talk.  We  tiptoed  over  the  leafy  carpet  of 
the  woods.  Soon  as  I  spoke  he  lifted  his  hand 
with  a  warning  "  Sh — h !  ".  The  murmur  of 
the  stream  was  in  our  ears.  Kneeling  on  a 
118 


Eben   Holden 

mossy  knoll  we  baited  the  hooks;  then  Uncle 
Eb  beckoned  to  me. 

I  came  to  him  on  tiptoe. 

"  See  thet  there  foam  'long  side  o'  the  big 
log?  "  he  whispered,  pointing  with  his  finger. 

I  nodded. 

"  Cre-e-ep  up  jest  as  ca-a-areful  as  ye  can," 
he  went  on  whispering.  "  Drop  in  a  leetle 
above  an'  let  'er  float  down." 

Then  he  went  on,  below  me,  lifting  his  feet  in 
slow  and  stealthy  strides. 

He  halted  by  a  bit  of  drift  wood  and  cau- 
tiously threw  in,  his  arm  extended,  his  figure 
alert.  The  squint  on  his  face  took  a  firmer 
grip.  Suddenly  his  pole  gave  a  leap,  the  water 
splashed,  his  line  sang  in  the  air  and  a  fish  went 
up  like  a  rocket.  As  we  were  looking  into  the 
tree  tops  it  thumped  the  shore  beside  him,  quiv- 
ered a  moment  and  flopped  down  the  bank.  He 
scrambled  after  it  and  went  to  his  knees  in  the 
brook  coming  up  empty  handed.  The  water 
was  slopping  out  of  his  boot  legs. 

"  Whew !  "  said  he,  panting  with  excitement, 
as  I  came  over  to  him.  "  Reg'lar  ol'  he  one," 
he  added,  looking  down  at  his  boots.  "  Got 
away  from  me — consarn  him!  Hed  a  leetle 
too  much  power  in  the  arm." 

He  emptied  his  boots,  baited  up  and  went 
119 


Eben   Holden 

back  to  his  fishing;.  As  I  looked  up  at  him  he 
stood  leaning  over  the  stream  jiggling  his  hook. 
In  a  moment  I  saw  a  tug  at  the  line.  The  end 
of  his  pole  went  under  water  like  a  flash.  It 
bent  double  as  Uncle  Eb  gave  it  a  lift.  The 
fish  began  to  dive  and  rush.  The  line  cut  the 
water  in  a  broad  semicircle  and  then  went  far 
and  near  with  long,  quick  slashes.  The  pole 
nodded  and  writhed  like  a  thing  of  life.  Then 
Uncle  Eb  had  a  look  on  him  that  is  one  of  the 
treasures  of  my  memory.  In  a  moment  the  fish 
went  away  with  such  a  violent  rush,  to  save 
him,  he  had  to  throw  his  pole  into  the  water. 

"  Heavens  an'  airth !  "  he  shouted,  "  the  ol' 
settler!  " 

The  pole  turned  quickly  and  went  lengthwise 
into  the  rapids.  He  ran  down  the  bank  and  I 
after  him.  The  pole  was  speeding  through  the 
swift  water.  We  scrambled  over  logs  and 
through  bushes,  but  the  pole  went  faster  than 
we.  Presently  it  stopped  and  swung  around. 
Uncle  Eb  went  splashing  into  the  brook. 
Almost  within  reach  of  the  pole  he  dashed  his 
foot  upon  a  stone  falling  headlong  in  the  cur- 
rent. I  was  close  upon  his  heels  and  gave  him 
a  hand.  He  rose  hatless,  dripping  from  head 
to  foot  and  pressed  on.  He  lifted  his  pole. 
The  line  clung  to  a  snag  and  then  gave  way;  the 
1 20 


Eben   Holden 

tackle  was  missing-.  He  looked  at  it  silently, 
tilting  his  head.  We  walked  slowly  to  the 
shore.     Neither  spoke  for  a  moment. 

"  Must  have  been  a  big  fish,"  I  remarked. 

"  Powerful !  "  said  he,  chewing  vigorously 
on  his  quid  of  tobacco  as  he  shook  his  head 
and  looked  down  at  his  wet  clothing.  "  In  a 
desp'rit  fix  aint  I  ?  " 

"  Too  bad!  "  I  exclaimed. 

"  Seldom  ever  hed  sech  a  disapp'intment,"  he 
said.  "  Ruther  counted  on  ketchin'  thet  fish — 
he  was  s'  well  hooked." 

He  looked  longingly  at  the  water  a  moment. 
"  If  I  don't  go  hum,"  said  he,  "  an'  keep  my 
mouth  shet  I'll  say  sumthin'  I'll  be  sorrry 
fer." 

He  was  never  quite  the  same  after  that.  He 
told  often  of  his  struggle  with  this  unseen, 
mysterious  fish  and  I  imagined  he  was  a  bit 
more  given  to  reflection.  He  had  had  hold  of 
the  "  ol' settler  of  Deep  Hole," — a  fish  of  great 
influence  and  renown  there  in  Faraway.  Most 
of  the  local  fishermen  had  felt  him  tug  at  the 
line  one  time  or  another.  No  man  had  ever 
seen  him  for  the  water  was  black  in  Deep  Hole. 
No  fish  had  ever  exerted  a  greater  influence  on 
the  thought,  the  imagination,  the  manners  or 
the    moral    character    of     his     cotemporaries. 


Eben   Holden 

Tip  Taylor  always  took  off  his  hat  and  sighed 
when  he  spoke  of  the  "  ol'  settler."  Ransom 
Walker  said  he  had  once  seen  his  top  fin  and 
thought  it  longer  than  a  razor.  Ransom  took  to 
idleness  and  chewing  tobacco  immediately  after 
his  encounter  with  the  big  fish,  and  both  vices 
stuck  to  him  as  long  as  he  lived.  Everyone 
had  his  theory  of  the  "  ol'  settler."  Most 
agreed  he  was  a  very  heavy  trout.  Tip  Taylor 
used  to  say  that  in  his  opinion  "  'twas  nuthin' 
more'n  a  plain,  overgrown,  common  sucker," 
but  Tip  came  from  the  Sucker  Brook  country 
where  suckers  lived  in  colder  water  and  were 
more  entitled  to  respect. 

Mose  Tupper  had  never  had  his  hook  in  the 
"  ol'  settler  "  and  would  believe  none  of  the 
many  stories  of  adventure  at  Deep  Hole  that 
had  thrilled  the  township. 

"  Thet  fish  hes  made  s'  many  liars  'round 
here  ye  dunno  who  t'  b'lieve,"  he  had  said  at 
the  corners  one  day,  after  Uncle  Eb  had  told 
his  story  of  the  big  fish.  "  Somebody  't  knows 
how  t'  fish  hed  oughter  go  'n  ketch  him  fer  the 
good  o'  the  town — thet's  what  I  think." 

Now  Mr.  Tupper  was  an  excellent  man  but 
his  incredulity  was  always  too  bluntly  put.  It 
had  even  led  to  some  ill  feeling. 

He  came  in  at  our  place  one  evening  with  a 


Eben  Holden 

big  hook  and  line  from  "  down  east  " — the  kind 
of  tackle  used  in  salt  water. 

"  What  ye  goin'  t'  dew  with  it?  "  Uncle  Eb 
inquired. 

"  Ketch  thet  fish  ye  talk  s'  much  about — 
goin'  t'  put  him  out  o'  the  way." 

"  'Taint  fair,"  said  Uncle  Eb,  "  its  reedic'- 
lous.     Like  leading  a  pup  with  a  log  chain." 

"  Don't  care,"  said  Mose,"  I'm  goin'  t'  go 
fishin  t'  morrer.  If  there  reely  is  any  sech  fish 
— which  I  don't  believe  there  is — I'm  goin'  t' 
rassle  with  him  an'  mebbe  tek  him  out  o'  the 
river.  Thet  fish  is  sp'ilin'  the  moral  character 
o'  this  town.  He  oughter  be  rode  on  a  rail — 
thet  fish  hed." 

How  he  would  punish  a  trout  in  that  manner 
Mr.  Tupper  failed  to  explain,  but  his  metaphor 
was  always  a  worse  fit  than  his  trousers  and 
that  was  bad  enough. 

It  was  just  before  haying  and,  there  being 
little  to  do,  we  had  also  planned  to  try  our  luck 
in  the  morning.  When,  at  sunrise,  we  were 
walking  down  the  cow  path  to  the  woods  I  saw 
Uncle  Eb  had  a  coil  of  bed  cord  on  his  shoulder. 

"What's  that  for?"  I  asked. 

"  Wall,"  said  he,  "  goin'  t'  hev  fun  anyway. 
If  we  can't  ketch  one  thing  we'll  try  another." 

We  had  great  luck  that  morning  and  when 
123 


Eben  Holden 

our  basket  was  near  full  we  came  to  Deep  Hole 
and  made  ready  for  a  swim  in  the  water  above 
it.  Uncle  Eb  had  looped  an  end  of  the  bed  cord 
and  tied  a  few  pebbles  on  it  with  bits  of  string. 

"  Now,"  said  he  presently,  "  I  want  t'  sink 
this  loop  t'  the  bottom  an'  pass  the  end  o'  the 
cord  under  the  drift  wood  so  't  we  can  fetch  it 
'crost  under  water."  i 

There  was  a  big  stump,  just  opposite,  with 
roots  running  down  the  bank  into  the  stream. 
I  shoved  the  line  under  the  drift  with  a  pole 
and  then  hauled  it  across  where  Uncle  Eb 
drew  it  up  the  bank  under  the  stump  roots. 

"  In  'bout  half  an  hour  I  cal'late  Mose  Tup- 
per  '11  be  long,"  he  whispered.  "  Wisht  ye'd 
put  on  yer  clo's  an'  lay  here  back  o'  the  stump 
an'  hold  on  t'  the  cord.  When  ye  feel  a  bite 
give  a  yank  er  two  an'  haul  in  like  Sam  Hill 
— fifteen  feet  er  more  quicker'n  scat.  Snatch 
his  pole  right  away  from  him.  Then  lay 
still." 

Uncle  Eb  left  me,  shortly,  going  up  stream. 
It  was  near  an  hour  before  I  heard  them  com- 
ing. Uncle  Eb  was  talking  in  a  low  tone  as 
they  came  down  the  other  bank. 

"  Drop  right  in  there,"  he  was  saying,  "  an' 
let  her  drag  down,  through  the  deep  water, 
deliberate  like.     Git  clus  t'  the  bottom." 
124 


Eben   Holden 

Peering  through  a  screen  of  bushes  I  could 
see  an  eager  look  on  the  unlovely  face  of 
Moses.  He  stood  leaning  toward  the  water 
and  jiggling  his  hook  along  the  bottom.  Sud- 
denly I  saw  Mose  jerk  and  felt  the  cord  move. 
I  gave  it  a  double  twitch  and  began  to  pull. 
He  held  hard  for  a  jiffy  and  then  stumbled 
and  let  go  yelling  like  mad.  The  pole  hit  the 
water  with  a  splash  and  went  out  of  sight  like 
a  diving  frog.  I  brought  it  well  under  the 
foam  and  drift  wood.  Deep  Hole  resumed  its 
calm,  unruffled  aspect.  Mose  went  running 
toward  Uncle  Eb. 

"  'S  a  whale !  "  he  shouted.  "  Ripped  the 
pole  away  quicker'n  lightnin'." 

"  Where  is  it?  "  Uncle  Eb  asked. 

"  Tuk  it  away  fm  me,"  said  Moses.  "  Grab- 
bed it  jes'  like  thet,"  he  added  with  a  violent 
jerk  of  his  hand. 

"What  d'  he  dew  with  it?"  Uncle  Eb  in- 
quired. 

Mose  looked  thoughtfully  at  the  water  and 
scratched  his  head,  his  features  all  a  tremble. 

"  Dunno,"  said  he.     "  Swallered  it  mebbe." 

"  Mean  t'  say  ye  lost  hook,  line,  sinker  'n 
pole?" 

"  Hook,  line,  sinker  'n  pole,"  he  answered 
mournfully.  "  Come  nigh  haulin'  me  in  tew." 
I25 


Eben   Holden 

"  'Taint  possible,"  said  Uncle  Eb. 

Mose  expectorated,  his  hands  upon  his  hips, 
looking  clown  at  the  water. 

"  Wouldn't  eggzac'ly  say  'twas  possible," 
he  drawled,  "  but  'twas  a  fact." 

"  Yer  mistaken,"  said  Uncle  Eb. 

"  No  I  haint,"  was  the  answer,  "  I  tell  ye 
I  see  it." 

"Then  if  ye  see  it  the  nex'  thing  ye  orter  see 
's  a  doctor.  There's  sumthin'  wrong  with  you 
sumwheres." 

"  Only  one  thing  the  matter  o'  me,"  said 
Mose  with  a  little  twinge  of  remorse.  "  I'm 
jest  a  natural  born  perfec'  dum  fool.  Never 
c'u'd  b'lieve  there  zvas  any  sech  fish." 

"  Nobody  ever  said  there  was  any  sech  fish," 
said  Uncle  Eb.  "  He's  done  more  t'  you  'n 
he  ever  done  t'  me.  Never  served  me  no  sech 
trick  as  thet.  If  I  was  you  I'd  never  ask  no- 
body t'  b'lieve  it.     'S  a  leetle  tew  much." 

Mose  went  slowly  and  picked  up  his  hat. 
Then  he  returned  to  the  bank  and  looked  re- 
gretfully at  the  water. 

"  Never  see  the  beat  o'  thet,"  he  went  on. 
"  Never  see  sech  power  'n  a  fish.  Knocks  the 
spots  off  any  fish  I  ever  hearn  of." 

''  Ye  riled  him  with  that  big  tackle  o'  yourn," 
said  Uncle  Eb.     "  He  wouldn't  stan'  it." 
1 26 


Eben   Holden 

"  Feel  jest  as  if  I'd  hed  holt  uv  a  wil'  cat," 
said  Mose.  "  Tuk  the  hull  thing — pole  an' 
all — quicker  'n  lightnin'.  Nice  a  bit  o'  hickory 
as  a  man  ever  see.  Gol'  durned  if  I  ever  heern 
o'  the  like  o'  that,  ever" 

He  sat  down  a  moment  on  the  bank. 

"  Got  t'  rest  a  minute,"  he  remarked. 
"  Feel  kind  o'  wopsy  after  thet  squabble." 

They  soon  went  away.  And  when  Mose  told 
the  story  of  "  the  swallered  pole  "  he  got  the 
same  sort  of  reputation  he  had  given  to  others. 
Only  it  was  real  and  large  and  lasting. 

"  Wha'  d'  ye  think  uv  it  ?  "  he  asked,  when 
he  had  finished. 

"Wall,"  said  Ransom  Walker,  "wouldn't 
want  t'  say  right  out  plain  t'  yer  face." 

'  'Twouldn't  be  p'lite,"  said  Uncle  Eb  so- 
berly. 

"  Sound  a  leetle  ha'sh,"  Tip  Taylor  added. 

"  Thet  fish  has  jerked  the  fear  o'  God  out  o' 
ye — thet  's  the  way  it  looks  t'  me,"  said  Carlyle 
Barber. 

'  Yer  up  'n  the  air,  Mose,"  said  another. 
"  Need  a  sinker  on  ye." 

They  bullied  him — they  talked  him  down,  de- 
murring mildly,  but  firmly. 

"  Tell  ye  what  I'll  do,"  said  Mose  sheep- 
ishly, "  I'll  b'lieve  you  fellers  if  you'll  b'lieve 
me." 

127 


Eben  Holden 

"  What,  swop  even?  Not  much !  "  said  one, 
with  emphasis.  "  'Twouldn't  be  fair.  Ye've 
ast  us  t'  b'lieve  a  genuwine  out  'n  out  impossi- 
bility." 

Mose  lifted  his  hat  and  scratched  his  head 
thoughtfully.  There  was  a  look  of  embarrass- 
ment in  his  face. 

"  Might  a  ben  dreamin',"  said  he  slowly. 
"  I  swear  it's  gittin'  so  here  'n  this  town  a  feller 
can't  hardly  b'lieve  himself." 

"  Fur  's  my  experience  goes,"  said  Ransom 
Walker,  "  he'd  be  a  fool  'f  he  did." 

"  'Minds  me  o'  the  time  I  went  fishin'  with 
Ab  Thomas,"  said  Uncle  Eb.  "  He  ketched  an 
ol'  socker  the  fust  thing.  I  went  off  by  myself 
'n  got  a  good  sized  fish,  but  'twant  s'  big  's 
hisn.  So  I  tuk  'n  opened  his  mouth  'n  poured 
in  a  lot  o'  fine  shot.  When  I  come  back  Ab  he 
looked  at  my  fish  'n  begun  t'  brag.  When  we 
weighed  'em  mine  was  a  leetle  heavier. 

"  '  What !  '  says  he.  '  'Taint  possible  thet 
leetle  cuss  uv  a  trout  's  heavier  'n  mine.' 

"  '  'Tis  sartin,'  I  said. 

"  '  Dummed  deceivin'  business,'  said  he  as  he 
hefted  'em  both.  '  Gittin'  so  ye  can't  hardly 
b'lieve  the  stillyurds.'  " 


128 


CHAPTER  XI 

The  fifth  summer  was  passing  since  we 
came  down  Paradise  road — the  dog,  Uncle  Eb 
and  I.  Times  innumerable  I  had  heard  my 
good  old  friend  tell  the  story  of  our  coming 
west  until  its  every  incident  was  familiar  to  me 
as  the  alphabet.  Else  I  fear  my  youthful 
memory  would  have  served  me  poorly  for  a 
chronicle  of  my  childhood  so  exact  and  so  ex- 
tended as  this  I  have  written.  Uncle  Eb's 
hair  was  white  now  and  the  voices  of  the  swift 
and  the  panther  had  grown  mild  and  tremu- 
lous and  unsatisfactory  and  even  absurd.  Time 
had  tamed  the  monsters  of  that  imaginary 
wilderness  and  I  had  begun  to  lose  my  respect 
for  them.  But  one  fear  had  remained  with  me 
as  I  grew  older — the  fear  of  the  night  man. 
Every  boy  and  girl  in  the  valley  trembled  at 
the  mention  of  him.  Many  a  time  I  had  held 
awake  in  the  late  evening  to  hear  the  men  talk 
of  him  before  they  went  asleep — Uncle  Eb  and 
Tip  Taylor.  I  remember  a  night  when  Tip 
said,  in  a  low  awesome  tone,  that  he  was  a 
129 


Eben  Holden 

ghost.  The  word  carried  into  my  soul  the  first 
thought  of  its  great  and  fearful  mystery. 

"  Years  and  years  ago,"  said  he,  "  there  was 
a  boy  by  the  name  of  Nehemiah  Brower.  An' 
he  killed  another  boy,  once,  by  accident  an'  run 
away  an'  was  drownded." 

"  Drownded !  "  said  Uncle  Eb.       "  How  ?  " 

"  In  the  ocean,"  the  first  answered  gaping. 
"  Went  away  off  'round  the  world  an'  they  got 
a  letter  that  said  he  was  drownded  on  his  way 
to  Van  Dieman's  Land." 

"  To  Van  Dieman's  Land !  " 

"  Yes,  an  some  say  the  night  man  is  the 
ghost  o'  the  one  he  killed." 

I  remember  waking  that  night  and  hearing 
excited  whispers  at  the  window  near  my  bed. 
It  was  very  dark  in  the  room  and  at  first  I  could 
not  tell  who  was  there. 

"  Don't  you  see  him?  "  Tip  whispered. 

"  Where?  "  I  heard  Uncle  Eb  ask. 

"  Under  the  pine  trees — see  him  move." 

At  that  I  was  up  at  the  window  myself  and 
could  plainly  see  the  dark  figure  of  a  man 
standing  under  the  little  pine  below  us. 

"  The  night  man,  I  guess,"  said  Uncle  Eb, 
"  but  he  won't  do  no  harm.  Let  him  alone ; 
he's  goin'  away  now." 

We  saw  him  disappear  behind  the  trees  and 
130 


Eben   Holden 

then  we  got  back  into  our  beds  again.  I  cov- 
ered my  head  with  the  bed  clothes  and  said  a 
small  prayer  for  the  poor  night  man. 

And  in  this  atmosphere  of  mystery  and  ad- 
venture, among  the  plain  folk  of  Faraway, 
whose  care  of  me  when  I  was  in  great  need, 
and  whose  love  of  me  always,  I  count  among 
the  priceless  treasures  of  God's  providence,  my 
childhood  passed.  And  the  day  came  near 
when  I  was  to  begin  to  play  my  poor  part  in 
the  world. 


131 


BOOK  TWO 


133 


CHAPTER  XII 

It  was  a  time  of  new  things — that  winter 
when  I  saw  the  end  of  my  fifteenth  year.  Then 
I  began  to  enjoy  the  finer  humors  of  life  in 
Faraway — to  see  with  understanding;  and  by 
God's  grace, — to  feel. 

The  land  of  play  and  fear  and  fable  was  now 
far  behind  me  and  I  had  begun  to  feel  the  in- 
finite in  the  ancient  forest,  in  the  everlasting 
hills,  in  the  deep  of  heaven,  in  all  the  ways  of 
men.  Hope  Brower  was  now  near  woman 
grown.  She  had  a  beauty  of  face  and  form 
that  was  the  talk  of  the  country  side.  I  have 
traveled  far  and  seen  many  a  fair  face  but 
never  one  more  to  my  eye.  I  have  heard  men 
say  she  was  like  a  girl  out  of  a  story  book  those 
days. 

Late  years  something  had  come  between  us. 
Long  ago  we  had  fallen  out  of  each  other's 
confidence,  and  ever  since  she  had  seemed  to 
shun  me.  It  was  the  trip  in  the  sled  house 
that,  years  after,  came  up  between  us  and  broke 
our  childish  intimacy.  Uncle  Eb  had  told,  be- 
fore company,  how  she  had  kissed  me  that  day 
i35 


Eben   Hqlden 

and  bespoke  me  for  a  husband,  and  while  the 
others  laughed  loudly  she  had  gone  out  of  the 
room  crying.  She  would  have  little  to  say  to 
me  then.  I  began  to  play  with  boys  and  she 
with  girls.  And  it  made  me  miserable  to  hear 
the  boys  a  bit  older  than  I  gossip  of  her  beauty 
and  accuse  each  other  of  the  sweet  disgrace  of 
love. 

But  I  must  hasten  to  those  events  in  Fara- 
way that  shaped  our  destinies.  And  first  comes 
that  memorable  night  when  I  had  the  privilege 
of  escorting  Hope  to  the  school  lyceum  where 
the  argument  of  Jed  Feary — poet  of  the  hills — 
fired  my  soul  with  an  ambition  that  has  re- 
mained with  me  always. 

Uncle  Eb  suggested  that  I  ask  Hope  to  go 
with  me. 

"  Prance  right  up  to  her,"  he  said,  "  an'  say 
you'd  be  glad  of  the  pleasure  of  her  company." 

It  seemed  to  me  a  very  dubious  thing  to  do. 
I  looked  thoughtful  and  turned  red  in  the  face. 

"  Young  man,"  he  continued,  "  the  boy  thet 
's  'fraid  o'  women  '11  never  hev  whiskers." 

"  How  's  that?  "  I  inquired. 

"  Be    scairt    t'    death,"  he  answered,"  'fore 
they've  hed  time  t'  start.     Ye  want  t'  step  right 
up  t'  the  rack  jes'  if  ye'd  bought  an'  paid  fer 
yerself  an'  was  proud  o'  yer  bargain." 
136 


Eben   Holden 

I  took  his  advice  and  when  I  found  Hope 
alone  in  the  parlor  I  came  and  asked  her,  very 
awkwardly  as  I  now  remember,  to  go  with  me. 

She  looked  at  me,  blushing-,  and  said  she 
would  ask  her  mother. 

And  she  did,  and  we  walked  to  the  school- 
house  together  that  evening,  her  hand  holding 
my  arm,  timidly,  the  most  serious  pair  that 
ever  struggled  with  the  problem  of  deportment 
on  such  an  occasion.  I  was  oppressed  with  a 
heavy  sense  of  responsibility  in  every  word  I 
uttered. 

Ann  Jane  Foster,  known  as  "  Scooter  Jane," 
for  her  rapid  walk  and  stiff  carriage,  met  us  at 
the  corners  on  her  way  to  the  schoolhouse. 

"  Big  turn  out  I  guess,"  said  she.  "  Jed 
Feary  'n'  Squire  Town  is  comin'  over  from 
Jingleville  an'  all  the  big  guns  '11  be  there.  I 
love  t'  hear  Jed  Feary  speak,  he's  so  techin'." 

Ann  Jane  was  always  looking  around  for 
some  event  likely  to  touch  her  feelings.  She 
went  to  every  funeral  in  Faraway  and,  when 
sorrow  was  scarce  in  her  own  vicinity,  jour- 
neyed far  in  quest  of  it. 

"  Wouldn't  wonder  'f  the  fur  flew  when  they 

git  t'  goin',"  she  remarked,  and  then  hurried 

on,  her  head  erect,  her  body  motionless,  her 

legs  flying.     Such  energy  as  she  gave  to  the 

i37 


Eben   Holden 

pursuit  of  mourning  I  have  never  seen  equalled 
in  any  other  form  of  dissipation. 

The  schoolhouse  was  nearly  full  of  people 
when  we  came  in.  The  big  boys  were  wres- 
tling in  the  yard;  men  were  lounging  on  the  rude 
seats,  inside,  idly  discussing  crops  and  cattle 
and  lapsing  into  silence,  frequently,  that  bore 
the  signs  both  of  expectancy  and  reflection. 
Young  men  and  young  women  sat  together  on 
one  side  of  the  house  whispering  and  giggling. 
Alone  among  them  was  the  big  and  eccentric 
granddaughter  of  Mrs.  Bisnette,  who  was  al- 
ways slapping  some  youngster  for  imperti- 
nence. Jed  Feary  and  Squire  Town  sat  to- 
gether behind  a  pile  of  books,  both  looking 
very  serious.  The  long  hair  and  beard  of  the 
eld  poet  were  now  white  and  his  form  bent 
with  age.  He  came  over  and  spoke  to  us  and 
took  a  curl  of  Hope's  hair  in  his  stiffened  fin- 
gers and  held  it  to  the  lamplight. 

"  What  silky  gold !  "  he  whispered.  "  'S  a 
skein  o'  fate,  my  dear  girl !  " 

Suddenly  the  school  teacher  rapped  on  the 
desk  and  bade  us  come  to  order  and  Ransom 
Walker  was  called  to  the  chair. 

"  Thet  there  is  talent  in  Faraway  town- 
ship," he  said,  having  reluctantly  come  to  the 
platform,  "  and  talent  of  the  very  highest  or- 
138 


Eben   Holden 

der,  no  one  can  deny  who  has  ever  attended 
a  lyceum  at  the  Howard  schoolhouse.  I  see 
evidences  of  talent  in  every  face  before  me. 
And  I  wish  to  ask  what  are  the  two  great  tal- 
ents of  the  Yankee — talents  that  made  our 
forefathers  famous  the  world  over?  I  pause 
for  an  answer." 

He  had  once  been  a  schoolmaster  and  that 
accounted  for  his  didactic  style. 

"  What  are  the  two  great  talents  of  the  Yan- 
kee?" he  repeated,  his  hands  clasped  before 
him. 

"  Doughnuts  an'  pie,"  said  Uncle  Eb  who 
sat  in  a  far  corner. 

"  No  sir,"  Mr.  Walker  answered,  "  there's 
some  hev  a  talent  fer  sawin'  wood,  but  we  don't 
count  that.  It's  war  an'  speakin',  they  are  the 
two  great  talents  of  the  Yankee.  But  his 
greatest  talent  is  the  gift  o'  gab.  Give  him  a 
chance  t'  talk  it  over  with  his  enemy  an'  he'll 
lick  'im  without  a  fight.  An'  when  his  enemy 
is  another  Yankee — why,  they  both  git  licked, 
jest  as  it  was  in  the  case  of  the  man  thet  sold 
me  lightnin'  rods.  He  wras  sorry  he  done  it 
before  I  got  through  with  him.  If  we  did  not 
encourage  this  talent  in  our  sons  they  would 
be  talked  to  death  by  our  daughters.  La- 
dies and  gentlemen,  it  gives  me  pleasure  t'  say 
i39 


Eben   Holden 

that  the  best  speakers  in  Faraway  township 
have  come  here  t'  discuss  the  important  ques- 
tion : 

"  Resolved,   that   intemperance  has   caused 
more  misery  than  war  ? 

"  I  call  upon  Moses  Tupper  to  open  for  the 
affirmative." 

Moses,  as  I  have  remarked,  had  a  most 
unlovely  face  with  a  thin  and  bristling  growth 
of  whiskers.  In  giving  him  features  Nature 
had  been  generous  to  a  fault.  He  had  a  large 
red  nose,  and  a  mouth  vastly  too  big  for  any 
proper  use.  It  was  a  mouth  fashioned  for  odd 
sayings.  He  was  well  to  do  and  boasted  often 
that  he  was  a  self  made  man.  Uncle  Eb  used 
to  say  that  if  Mose  Tupper  had  had  the  "  makin' 
uv  himself  he'd  oughter  done  it  more  careful." 

I  remember  not  much  of  the  speech  he  made, 
but  the  picture  of  him,  as  he  rose  on  tiptoe 
and  swung  his  arms  like  a  man  fighting  bees, 
and  his  drawling  tones  are  as  familiar  as  the 
things  of  yesterday. 

"  Gentlemen  an'  ladies,"  said  he  presently, 
"  let  me  show  you  a  pictur'.  It  is  the  drunk- 
ard's child.  It  is  hungry  an'  there  ain't  no 
food  in  its  home.  The  child  is  poorer'n  a 
straw  fed  hoss.  'Tain't  hed  a  thing  t'  eat  since 


140 


Eben  Holden 

day  before  yistiddy,  Pictur'  it  to  yourselves 
as  it  comes  cryin'  to  its  mother  an'  says  : 

"  '  Ma!     Gi'  me  a  piece  o'  bread  an'  butter.' 

"  She  covers  her  face  with  her  apron  an' 
says  she,  '  There  ain'  none  left,  my  child.' 

"An'  bime  bye  the  child  comes  agin'  an' 
holds  up  its  poor  little  han's  an'  says  :  '  Ma ! 
please  gi'  me  a  piece  o'  cake.' 

"An'  she  goes  an'  looks  out  o'  the  winder, 
er  mebbe  pokes  the  fire,  an'  says  :  '  There 
ain'  none  left,  my  child.' 

'■  An'  bime  bye  it  comes  agin'  an'  it  says  : 
'  Please  gi'  me  a  little  piece  o'  pie.' 

"  An'  she  mebbe  flops  into  a  chair  an'  says, 
sobbin',    '  There  ain'  none  left,  my  child.' 

"  No  pie !  Now,  Mr.  Chairman !  "  ex- 
claimed the  orator,  as  he  lifted  both  hands  high 
above  his  head,  "  If  this  ain't  misery,  in  God's 
name,  what  is  it  ? 

'  Years  ago,  when  I  was  a  young  man,  Mr. 
President,  I  went  to  a  dance  one  night  at  the 
village  of  Migleyville.  I  got  a  toothache,  an' 
the  Devil  tempted  me  with  whiskey,  an'  I  tuk 
one  glass  an'  then  another  an'  purty  soon  I 
begun  t'  think  I  was  a  mighty  hefty  sort  of  a 
character,  I  did,  an'  I  stud  on  a  corner  an' 
stumped  everybody  t'  fight  with  me,  an'  bime 


141 


Eben  Holden 

bye  an  accommodatin'  kind  of  a  chap  come 
along,  an'  that's  all  I  remember  o'  what 
happened.  When  I  come  to,  my  coat  tails  had 
been  tore  off,  I'd  lost  one  leg  o'  my  trousers,  a 
bran  new  silver  watch,  tew  dollars  in  money, 
an  a  pair  o'  spectacles.  When  I  stud  up  an' 
tried  t'  realize  what  hed  happened  I  felt  jes' 
like  a  blind  rooster  with  only  one  leg  an'  no 
tail  feathers." 

A  roar  of  laughter  followed  these  frank  re- 
marks of  Mr.  Tupper  and  broke  into  a  storm 
of  merriment  when  Uncle  Eb  rose  and  said  : 

"  Mr.  President,  I  hope  you  see  that  the  mis- 
fortunes of  our  friend  was  due  t'  war,  an'  not 
to  intemperance." 

Mr.  Tupper  was  unhorsed.  For  some  min- 
utes he  stood  helpless  or  shaking  with  the  emo- 
tion that  possessed  all.  Then  he  finished  lamely 
and  sat  down. 

The  narrowness  of  the  man  that  saw  so 
much  where  there  was  so  little  in  his  own  expe- 
rience and  in  the  trivial  events  of  his  own 
township  was  what  I  now  recognize  as  most 
valuable  to  the  purpose  of  this  history.  It 
was  a  narrowness  that  covered  a  multitude  of 
people  in  St.  Lawrence  county  in  those  days. 

Jed  Feary  was  greeted  with  applause  and 
then  by  respectful  silence  when  he  rose  to 
142 


Eben  Holden 

speak.  The  fame  of  his  verse  and  his  learn- 
ing had  gone  far  beyond  the  narrow  bound- 
aries of  the  township  in  which  he  lived.  It 
was  the  biggest  thing  in  the  county.  Many  a 
poor  sinner  who  had  gone  out  of  Faraway  to 
his  long  home  got  his  first  praise  in  the  obituary 
poem  by  Jed  Feary.  These  tributes  were 
generally  published  in  the  county  paper  and 
paid  for  by  the  relatives  of  the  deceased  at  the 
rate  of  a  dollar  a  day  for  the  time  spent  on 
them,  or  by  a  few  days  of  board  and  lodging 
— glory  and  consolation  that  was,  alas ! 
too  cheap,  as  one  might  see  by  a  glance  at  his 
forlorn  figure.  I  shall  never  forget  the  courtly 
manner,  so  strangely  in  contrast  with  the 
rude  deportment  of  other  men  in  that  place, 
with  which  he  addressed  the  chairman 
and  the  people.  The  drawling  dialect  of 
the  vicinity  that  flavored  his  conversation 
fell  from  him  like  a  mantle  as  he  spoke  and 
the  light  in  his  soul  shone  upon  that  little  com- 
pany— a  great  light,  as  I  now  remember,  that 
filled  me  with  burning  thoughts  of  the  world 
and  its  mighty  theatre  of  action.  The  way  of 
my  life  lay  clear  before  me,  as  I  listened,  and 
its  days  of  toil  and  the  sweet  success  my  God 
has  given  me,  although  I  take  it  humbly  and 
hold  it  infinitely  above  my  merit.  I  was  to 
i43 


Eben   Holden 

get  learning  and  seek  some  way  of  expressing 
what  was  in  me. 

It  would  ill  become  me  to  try  to  repeat  the 
words  of  this  venerable  seer,  but  he  showed 
that  intemperance  was  an  individual  sin,  while 
war  was  a  national  evil.  That  one  meant 
often  the  ruin  of  a  race  ;  the  other  the  ruin  of 
a  family  ;  that  one  was  as  the  ocean,  the  other 
as  a  single  drop  in  its  waters.  And  he  told  us 
of  the  fall  of  empires  and  the  millions  that  had 
suffered  the  oppression  of  the  conqueror  and 
perished  by  the  sword  since  Agamemnon. 

After  the  debate  a  young  lady  read  a  liter- 
ary paper  full  of  clumsy  wit,  rude  chronicles 
of  the  country  side,  essays  on  "  Spring,"  and 
like  topics — the  work  of  the  best  talent  of  Far- 
away. Then  came  the  decision,  after  which 
the  meeting  adjourned. 

At  the  door  some  other  boys  tried  "  to  cut 
me  out."  I  came  through  the  noisy  crowd, 
however,  with  Hope  on  my  arm  and  my  heart 
full  of  a  great  happiness. 

"Did  you  like  it?"  she  asked. 

"  Very  much,"  I  answered. 

"  What  did  you  enjoy  most  ?  " 

"  Your  company,"  I  said,  with  a  fine  air  of 
gallantry. 

"Honestly?" 

144 


Eben  Holden 

"  Honestly.  I  want  to  take  you  to  Rickard's 
some  time?  " 

That  was  indeed  a  long  cherished  hope. 

"  Maybe  I  won't  let  you,"  she  said. 

"Wouldn't  you?" 

"  You'd  better  ask  me  some  time  and  see." 

"  I  shall.     I  wouldn't  ask  any  other  girl." 

"  Well,"  she  added,  with  a  sigh,  "  if  a  boy 
likes  one  girl  I  don't  think  he  ought  to  have 
anything  to  do  with  other  girls.  I  hate  a 
flirt." 

I  happened  to  hear  a  footfall  in  the  snow  be- 
hind us,  and  looking  back  saw  Ann  Jane  Fos- 
ter going  slow  in  easy  hearing.  She  knew  all, 
as  we  soon  found  out. 

"  I  dew  jes  love  t'  see  young  folks  enjoy 
themselves,"  said  she,  "  it's  entrancin' !  " 

Coming  in  at  our  gate  I  saw  a  man  going 
over  the  wall  back  of  the  big  stables.  The  house 
was  dark. 

"Did  you  see  the  night  man?"  Elizabeth 
Brower  whispered  as  I  lit  the  lamp.  "  Went 
through  the  garden  just  now.  I've  been 
watching  him  here  at  the  window." 


i45 


CHAPTER  XIII 

The  love  of  labor  was  counted  a  great  vir- 
tue there  in  Faraway.  As  for  myself,  I  could 
never  put  my  heart  in  a  hoe  handle  or  in  any 
like  tool  of  toil.  They  made  a  blister  upon  my 
spirit  as  well  as  upon  my  hands.  I  tried  to 
find  in  the  sweat  of  my  brow  that  exalted 
pleasure  of  which  Mr.  Greeley  had  visions  in 
his  comfortable  retreat  on  Printing  House 
Square.  But  unfortunately  I  had  not  his  point 
of  view. 

Hanging  in  my  library,  where  I  mav  see  it 
as  I  write,  is  the  old  sickle  of  Uncle  Eb.  The 
hard  hickory  of  its  handle  is  worn  thin  by  the 
grip  of  his  hand.  It  becomes  a  melancholy 
symbol  when  I  remember  how  also  the  hickory 
had  worn  him  thin  and  bent  him  low,  and  how 
infinitely  better  than  all  the  harvesting  of  the 
sickle  was  the  strength  of  that  man,  diminish- 
ing as  it  wore  the  wood.  I  cannot  help  smil- 
ing when  I  look  at  the  sickle  and  think  of  the 
soft  hands  and  tender  amplitude  of  Mr. 
Greeley. 

The  great  editor  had  been  a  playmate  of 
146 


Eben   Holden 

David  Brower  when  they  were  boys,  and 
his  paper  was  read  with  much  reverence  in 
our  home. 

"  How  quick  ye  can  plow  a  ten  acre  lot  with 
a  pen,"  Uncle  Eb  used  to  say  when  we  had 
gone  up  to  bed  after  father  had  been  reading 
aloud  from  his  Tribune. 

Such  was  the  power  of  the  press  in  that 
country  one  had  but  to  say  of  any  doubtful 
thing,  "  Seen  it  in  print,"  to  stop  all  argument. 
If  there  were  any  further  doubt  he  had  only  to 
say  that  he  had  read  it  either  in  the  Tribune  or 
the  Bible,  and  couldn't  remember  which.  Then 
it  was  a  mere  question  of  veracity  in  the  speaker. 
Boofts  and  other  reading  were  carefully  put 
away  for  an  improbable  time  of  leisure. 

"  I  might  break  my  leg  some  time,"  said 
David  Brower,  "then  they'll  come  handy."  But 
the  Tribune  was  read  carefully  every  week. 

I  have  seen  David  Brower  stop  and  look  at 
me  while  I  have  been  digging  potatoes,  with  a 
sober  grin  such  as  came  to  him  always  after 
he  had  swapped  "  hosses  "  and  got  the  worst 
of  it.  Then  he  would  show  me  again,  with  a 
little  impatience  in  his  manner,  how  to  hold 
the  handle  and  straddle  the  row.  He  would 
watch  me  for  a  moment,  turn  to  Uncle  Eb, 
laugh  hopelessly  and  say : 
i47 


Eben   Holden 

"  Thet  boy'll  her  to  be  a  minister.     He  can't 
work." 

But  for  Elizabeth  Brower  it  might  have 
gone  hard  with  me  those  days.  My  mind  was 
always  on  my  books  or  my  last  talk  with  Jed 
Feary,  and  she  shared  my  confidence  and  fed 
my  hopes  and  shielded  me  as  much  as  possible 
from  the  heavy  work.  Hope  had  a  better 
head  for  mathematics  than  I,  and  had  always 
helped  me  with  my  sums,  but  I  had  a  better 
memory  and  an  aptitude  in  other  things  that 
kept  me  at  the  head  of  most  of  my  classes.  Best 
of  all  at  school  I  enjoyed  the  "  compositions  " 
— I  had  many  thoughts,  such  as  they  were,  and 
some  facility  of  expression,  I  doubt  not,  for  a 
child.  Many  chronicles  of  the  country  side 
came  off  my  pen — sketches  of  odd  events  and 
characters  there  in  Faraway.  These  were  read 
to  the  assembled  household.  Elizabeth  Brower 
would  sit  looking  gravely  down  at  me,  as  I 
stood  by  her  knees  reading,  in  those  days  of 
my  early  boyhood.  Uncle  Eb  listened 
with  his  head  turned  curiously,  as  if  his  ear' 
were  cocked  for  coons.  Sometimes  he  and 
David  Brower  would  slap  their  knees  and 
laugh  heartily,  whereat  my  foster  mother 
would  give  them  a  quick  glance  and  shake  her 
head.  For  she  was  always  fearful  of  the  day 
148 


Eben   Holden 

when  she  should  see  in  her  children  the  birth  of 
vanity,  and  sought  to  put  it  off  as  far  as  might 
be.  Sometimes  she  would  cover  her  mouth  to 
hide  a  smile,  and,  when  I  had  finished,  look 
warningly  at  the  rest,  and  say  it  was  good,  for 
a  little  boy.  Her  praise  never  went  further, 
and  indeed  all  those  people  hated  flattery  as 
they  did  the  devil  and  frowned  upon  conceit. 
She  said  that  when  the  love  of  flattery  got  hold 
of  one  he  would  lie  to  gain  it. 

I  can  see  this  slender,  blue  eyed  woman  as 
I  write.  She  is  walking  up  and  down  beside 
her  spinning  wheel.  I  can  hear  the  dreary 
buz-z-z-z  of  the  spindle  as  she  feeds  it  with  the 
fleecy  ropes.  That  loud  crescendo  echoes  in 
the  still  house  of  memory.  I  can  hear  her 
singing  as  she  steps  forward  and  slows  the 
wheel  and  swings  the  cradle  with  her  foot  : 

"  On  the  other  side  of  Jordan, 
In  the  sweet  fields  of  Eden, 
Where  the  tree  of  Life  is  blooming, 
There  is  rest  for  you." 

She  lays  her  hand  to  the  spokes  again  and 
the  roar  of  the  spindle  drowns  her  voice. 

All  day,  from  the  breakfast  hour  to  supper 
time,  I  have  heard    the    dismal  sound  of  the 
spinning  as  she  walked  the  floor,    content  to 
sing  of  rest  but  never  taking  it. 
149 


Eben  Holdeo 

Her  home  was  almost  a  miracle  of  neatness. 
She  could  work  with  no  peace  of  mind  until  the 
house  had  been  swept  and  dusted.  A  fly  speck 
on  the  window  was  enough  to  cloud  her  day. 
She  went  to  town  with  David  now  and  then — 
not  oftener  than  once  a  quarter — and  came 
back  ill  and  exhausted.  If  she  sat  in  a  store 
waiting  for  David,  while  he  went  to  mill  or 
smithy,  her  imagination  gave  her  no  rest.  That 
dirt  abhorring  mind  of  hers  would  begin  to 
clean  the  windows,  and  when  that  was  finished 
it  would  sweep  the  floor  and  dust  the  counters. 
In  due  course  it  would  lower  the  big  chandelier 
and  take  out  all  the  lamps  and  wash  the  chim- 
neys with  soap  and  water  and  rub  them  till 
they  shone.  Then,  if  David  had  not  come, 
it  would  put  in  the  rest  of  its  time  on  the  wood- 
work. With  all  her  cleaning  I  am  sure  the 
good  woman  kept  her  soul  spotless.  Elizabeth 
Brower  believed  in  goodness  and  the  love  of 
God,  and  knew  no  fear.  Uncle  Eb  used  to  say 
that  wherever  Elizabeth  Brower  went  here- 
after it  would  have  to  be  clean  and  comfort- 
able. 

Elder  Whitmarsh  came  often  to  dinner  of  a 
Sunday,  when  he  and  Mrs.  Brower  talked  vol- 
ubly about  the  Scriptures,  he  taking  a  sterner 
view  of  God  than  she  would  allow.  He  was  an 
150 


Eben  Holden 

Englishman  by  birth,  who  had  settled  in  Far- 
away because  there  he  had  found  relief  for  a 
serious  affliction  of  asthma. 

He  came  over  one  noon  in  the  early  summer, 
that  followed  the  event  of  our  last  chapter,  to 
tell  us  of  a  strawberry  party  that  evening  at 
the  White  Church. 

"  I've  had  a  wonderful  experience,"  said  he 
as  he  took  a  seat  on  the  piazza,  while  Mrs. 
Brower  came  and  sat  near  him.  "  I've  dis- 
covered a  great  genius — a  wandering  fiddler, 
and  I  shall  try  to  bring  him  to  play  for  us." 

"  A  fiddler !  Why,  Elder !  "  said  she,  "  you 
astonish  me !  " 

"  Nothing  but  sacred  music,"  he  said,  lifting 
his  hand.  "  I  heard  him  play  all  the  grand 
things  to-day — '  Rock  of  Ages,'  '  Nearer 
My  God,  to  Thee,'  '  The  Marseillaise '  and 
'  Home,  Sweet  Home.'  Lifted  me  off  my 
feet!  I've  heard  the  great  masters  in  New 
York  and  London,  but  no  greater  player  than 
this  man." 

"  Where  is  he  and  where  did  he  come 
from?" 

"He's  at  my  house  now,"  said  the  good  man. 

"  I  found  him  this  morning.     He  stood  under 

a  tree  by  the  road  side,  above  Northrup's.     As 

I  came  near  I  heard  the  strains  of  '  The  Mar- 

151 


Eben   Holden 

seillaise.'  For  more  than  an  hour  I  sat  there 
listening.  It  was  wonderful,  Mrs.  Brower, 
wonderful !  The  poor  fellow  is  eccentric.  He 
never  spoke  to  me.  His  clothes  were  dusty 
and  worn.  But  his  music  went  to  my  heart 
like  a  voice  from  Heaven.  When  he  had  fin- 
ished I  took  him  home  with  me,  gave  him  food 
and  a  new  coat,  and  left  him  sleeping.  I  want 
you  to  come  over,  and  be  sure  to  bring  Hope. 
She  must  sing  for  us." 

"  Mr.  Brower  will  be  tired  out,  but  perhaps 
the  young  people  may  go,"  she  said,  looking  at 
Hope  and  me. 

My  heart  gave  a  leap  as  I  saw  in  Hope's 
eyes  a  reflection  of  my  own  joy.  In  a  moment 
she  came  and  gave  her  mother  a  sounding  kiss 
and  asked  her  what  she  should  wear. 

"  I  must  look  my  best,  mother,"  she  said. 

"  My  child,"  said  the  elder,  "  it's  what  you 
do  and  not  what  you  wear  that's  important." 

"  They're  both  important,  Elder,"  said  my 
foster  mother.  "  You  should  teach  your  peo- 
ple the  duty  of  comeliness.  They  honor  their 
Maker  when  they  look  their  best." 

The  spirit  of  liberalism  was  abroad  in  the 
sons  of  the  Puritans.  In  Elizabeth  Brower 
the  ancient  austerity  of  her  race  had  been  freely 


152 


Eben   Holden 

diluted  with  humor  and  cheerfulness  and  hu- 
man sympathy.  It  used  to  be  said  of  Deacon 
Hospur,  a  good  but  lazy  man,  that  he  was 
given  both  to  prayer  and  profanity.  Uncle 
Eb,  who  had  once  heard  the  deacon  swear, 
when  the  latter  had  been  bruised  by  a  kicking 
cow,  said  that,  so  far  as  he  knew,  the  deacon 
never  swore  except  when  t'  was  necessary. 
Indeed,  most  of  those  men  had,  I  doubt  not, 
too  little  of  that  fear  of  God  in  them  that  char- 
acterized their  fathers.  And  yet,  as  shall  ap- 
pear, there  were  in  Faraway  some  relics  of 
a  stern  faith. 

Hope  came  out  in  fine  feather,  and  although 
I  have  seen  many  grand  ladies,  gowned  for  the 
eyes  of  kings,  I  have  never  seen  a  lovelier  fig- 
ure than  when,  that  evening,  she  came  tripping 
down  to  the  buggy.  It  was  three  miles  to  the 
White  Church,  and  riding  over  in  the  twilight 
I  laid  the  plan  of  my  life  before  her.  She  sat 
a  moment  in  silence  after  I  had  finished. 

"  I  am  going  away,  too,"  she  remarked,  with 
a  sigh. 

"  Going  away !  "  I  said  with  some  surprise, 
for  in  all  my  plans  I  had  secretly  counted  on 
returning  in  grand  style  to  take  her  back  with 
me. 


i53 


Eben   Holden 

"  Going  away,"  said  she  decisively. 

"  It  isn't  nice  for  girls  to  go  away  from 
home,"  I  said. 

"  It  isn't  nice  for  boys,  either,"  said  she. 

We  had  come  to  the  church,  its  open  doors 
and  windows  all  aglow  with  light.  I  helped 
her  out  at  the  steps,  and  hitched  my  horse  un- 
der the  long  shed.  We  entered  together  and 
made  our  way  through  the  chattering  crowd 
to  the  little  cloak  room  in  one  corner.  Elder 
Whitmarsh  arrived  in  a  moment  and  the  fid- 
dler, a  short,  stout,  stupid  looking  man,  his  fid- 
dle in  a  black  box  under  his  arm,  followed  him 
to  the  platform  that  had  been  cleared  of  its  pul- 
pit. The  stranger  stood  staring  vacantly  at 
the  crowd  until  the  elder  motioned  him  to  a 
chair,  when  he  obeyed  with  the  hesitating, 
blind  obedience  of  a  dog.  Then  the  elder  made 
a  brief  prayer,  and  after  a  few  remarks  fla- 
vored with  puns,  sacred  and  immemorial  as 
the  pulpit  itself,  started  a  brief  program  of  en- 
tertainment. A  broad  smile  marked  the  be- 
ginning of  his  lighter  mood.  His  manner 
seemed  to  say  :  "  Now,  ladies  and  gentlemen, 
if  you  will  give  good  heed,  you  shall  see  I  can 
be  witty  on  occasion." 

Then  a  young  man  came  to  the  platform  and 
recited,  after  which  Hope  went  forward  and 
i54 


Eben  Holden 

sang  "  The  Land  o'  the  Leal  "  with  such  spirit 
that  I  can  feel  my  blood  go  faster  even  now 
as  I  think  of  it,  and  of  that  girlish  figure 
crowned  with  a  glory  of  fair  curls  that  fell  low 
upon  her  waist  and  mingled  with  the  wild  pink 
roses  at  her  bosom.  The  fiddler  sat  quietly 
as  if  he  heard  nothing  until  she  began  to  sing, 
when  he  turned  to  look  at  her.  The  elder  an- 
nounced, after  the  ballad,  that  he  had  brought 
with  him  a  wonderful  musician  who  would 
favor  them  with  some  sacred  music.  He  used 
the  word  "  sacred  "  because  he  had  observed, 
I  suppose,  that  certain  of  the  "  hardshells " 
were  looking  askance  at  the  fiddle.  There 
was  an  awkward  moment  in  which  the  fiddler 
made  no  move  or  sign  of  intelligence.  The 
elder  stepped  near  him  and  whispered.  Get- 
ting no  response,  he  reurned  to  the  front  of 
the  platform  and  said  :  "  We  shall  first  resign 
ourselves  to  social  intercourse  and  the  good 
things  the  ladies  have  provided." 

Mountains  of  frosted  cake  reared  their  snowy 
summits  on  a  long  table,  and  the  strawberries, 
"heaped  in  saucers  around  them,  were  like 
red  foot-hills.  I  remember  that  while  they  were 
serving  us  Hope  and  I  were  introduced  to  one 
Robert  Livingstone — a  young  New  Yorker, 
stopping  at  the  inn  near  by,  on  his  way  to  the 
155 


Eben   Holders 

big  woods.  He  was  a  handsome  fellow,  with 
such  a  fine  air  of  gallantry  and  so  trig  in  fash- 
ionable clothes  that  he  made  me  feel  awkward 
and  uncomfortable. 

"  I  have  never  heard  anything  more  delight- 
ful than  that  ballad,"  he  said  to  Hope.  "  You 
must  have  your  voice  trained — you  really 
must.     It  will  make  a  great  name  for  you." 

I  wondered  then  why  his  words  hurt  me  to 
the  soul.  The  castle  of  my  dreams  had  fallen 
as  he  spoke.  A  new  light  came  into  her  face 
— I  did  not  know  then  what  it  meant. 

"  Will  you  let  me  call  upon  you  before  I 
leave — may  I?"  He  turned  to  me  while  she 
stood  silent.  "  I  wish  to  see  your  father,"  he 
added. 

"  Certainly,"  she  answered,  blushing,  "  you 
may  come — if  you  care  to  come." 

The  musician  had  begun  to  thrum  the 
strings  of  his  violin.  We  turned  to  look  at 
him.  He  still  sat  in  his  chair,  his  ear  bent  to 
the  echoing  chamber  of  the  violin.  Soon  he 
laid  his  bow  to  the  strings  and  a  great  chord 
hushed  every  whisper  and  died  into  a  sweet, 
low  melody,  in  which  his  thought  seemed  to 
be  feeling  its  way  through  sombre  paths  of 
sound.  The  music  brightened,  the  bow  went 
faster,  and  suddenly  "  The  Girl  I  Left  Behind 
156 


Eben  Holden 

Me  "  came  rushing  off  the  strings.  A  look  of 
amazement  gathered  on  the  elder's  face  and 
deepened  into  horror.  It  went  from  one  to 
another  as  if  it  had  been  a  dish  of  ipecac. 
Ann  Jane  Foster  went  directly  for  her  things, 
and  with  a  most  unchristian  look  hurried  out 
into  the  night.  Half  a  dozen  others  followed 
her,  while  the  unholy  music  went  on,  its  merry 
echoes  rioting  in  that  sacred  room,  hallowed 
with  memories  of  the  hour  of  conviction,  of 
the  day  of  mourning,  of  the  coming  of  the 
bride  in  her  beauty. 

Deacon  Hospur  rose  and  began  to  drawl  a 
sort  of  apology,  when  the  player  stopped  sud- 
denly and  shot  an  oath  at  him.  The  deacon 
staggered  under  the  shock  of  it.  His  whiskers 
seemed  to  lift  a  bit  like  the  hair  of  a  cat  under 
provocation.  Then  he  tried  to  speak,  but  only 
stuttered  helplessly  a  moment  as  if  his  tongue 
were  oscillating  between  silence  and  profanity, 
and  was  finally  pulled  down  by  his  wife,  who 
had  laid  hold  of  his  coat  tails.  If  it  had  been 
any  other  man  than  Deacon  Hospur  it  would 
have  gone  badly  with  the  musician  then  and 
there,  but  we  boys  saw  his  discomfiture  with 
positive  gratitude.  In  a  moment  all  rose,  the 
dishes  were  gathered  up,  and  many  hurried 
away  with  indignant  glances  at  the  poor  elder, 
iS7 


Eben   Holden 

who  was  busy  taking  counsel  with  some  of  the 
brethren. 

I  have  never  seen  a  more  pathetic  figure 
than  that  of  poor  Nick  Goodall  as  he  sat  there 
thrumming  the  strings  of  which  he  was  a 
Heaven-born  master.  I  saw  him  often  after 
that  night — a  poor,  half-witted  creature,  who 
wandered  from  inn  to  inn  there  in  the  north 
country,  trading  music  for  hospitality.  A 
thoroughly  intelligible  sentence  never  passed 
his  lips,  but  he  had  a  great  gift  of  eloquence 
in  music.  Nobody  knew  whence  he  had  come 
or  any  particular  of  his  birth  or  training  or 
family.  But  for  his  sullen  temper,  that  broke 
into  wild,  unmeaning  profanity  at  times,  Nick 
Goodall  would  have  made  fame  and  fortune. 

He  stared  at  the  thinning  crowd  as  if  he 
had  begun  dimly  to  comprehend  the  havoc  he 
had  wrought.  Then  he  put  on  his  hat,  came 
down  off  the  platform,  and  shuffled  out  of  the 
open  door,  his  violin  in  one  hand,  its  box  in 
the  other.  There  were  not  more  than  a 
dozen  of  us  who  followed  him  into  the  little 
churchyard.  The  moon  was  rising,  and  the 
shadows  of  lilac  and  rose  bush,  of  slab  and 
monument  lay  long  across  the  green  mounds. 
Standing  there  between  the  graves  of  the  dead 


158 


Eben   Holden 

he  began  to  play.     I  shall  never  forget  that 
solemn  calling  of  the  silver  string  : 

"  Come  ye  disconsolate  where'er  ye  languish." 

It  was  a  new  voice,  a  revelation,  a  light 
where  darkness  had  been,  to  Hope  and  to  me. 
We  stood  listening  far  into  the  night,  forget- 
ful of  everything,  even  the  swift  flight  of  the 
hours. 

Loud,  impassioned  chords  rose  into  the 
moonlit  sky  and  sank  to  a  faint  whisper  of 
melody,  when  we  could  hear  the  gossip  of  the 
birds  in  the  belfry  and  under  the  eaves  ;  trem- 
bling tones  of  supplication,  wailing  notes  of 
longing  and  regret  swept  through  the  silent 
avenues  of  the  churchyard,  thrilling  us  with 
their  eloquence.  For  the  first  time  we 
heard  the  music  of  Handel,  of  Mendelssohn,  of 
Paganini,  and  felt  its  power,  then  knowing 
neither  name  nor  theme.  Hour  by  hour  he 
played  on  for  the  mere  joy  of  it.  When  we 
shook  hands  with  the  elder  and  tiptoed  to  the 
buggy  he  was  still  playing.  We  drove  slowly 
and  listened  a  long  way  down  the  road.  I 
could  hear  the  strains  of  that  ballad,  then  new 
to  me,  but  now  familiar,  growing  fainter  in  the 
distance  : 


iS9 


Eben  Holden 

O  ye'H  tak'  the  high  road  an'  I'll  tak'  the  low  road 
An'  I'll  be  in  Scotland  afore  ye; 
But  me  an'  me  true  love  will  never  meet  again 
On  the  bonnie,  bonnie  banks  o'  Loch  Lomond. 

What  connection  it  may  have  had  with  the 
history  of  poor  Nick  Goodall  *  I  have  often 
wondered. 

As  the  last  note  died  into  silence  I  turned  to 
Hope,  and  she  was  crying. 

"  Why  are  you  crying?  "  I  asked,  in  as  mis- 
erable a  moment  as  I  have  ever  known. 

"  It's  the  music,"  she  said. 

We  both  sat  in  silence,  then,  hearing  only 
the  creak  of  the  buggy  as  it  sped  over  the  sandy 
road.  Well  ahead  of  us  I  saw  a  man  who 
suddenly  turned  aside,  vaulting  over  the  fence 
and  running  into  the  near  woods. 

"  The  night  man !  "  I  exclaimed,  pulling  up 
a  moment  to  observe  him. 

Then  a  buggy  came  in  sight,  and  presently 
we  heard  a  loud  "  hello  "  from  David  Brower, 
who,  worried  by  our  long  stay,  had  come  out 
in  quest  of  us. 

*  Poor  Nick  Goodall  died  in  the  alms  house  of  Jefferson 
County  some  thirty  years  ago.  A  better  account  of  this  incident 
was  widely  printed  at  that  time. 


I  60 


CHAPTER  XIV 

Hope's  love  of  music  became  a  passion  after 
that  night.  Young  Mr.  Livingstone,  "  the 
city  chap  "  we  had  met  at  the  church,  came  over 
next  day.  His  enthusiasm  for  her  voice  gave 
us  all  great  hope  of  it.  David  Brower  said 
he  would  take  her  away  to  the  big  city  when 
she  was  older.  They  soon  decided  to  send 
her  in  September  to  the  big  school  in  Hills- 
borough. 

"  She's  got  t'  be  a  lady,"  said  David  Brower, 
as  he  drew  her  into  his  lap  the  day  we  had  all 
discussed  the  matter.  "  She's  learnt  every- 
thing in  the  'rithmetic  an'  geography  an'  spell- 
er. I  want  her  t'  learn  somethin'  more  scien- 
tific." 

"  Now  you're  talkin',"  said  Uncle  Eb. 
"  There's  lots  o'  things  ye  can't  learn  by  ciph- 
erin'.     Nuthin's  too  good  fer  Hope." 

"  I'd  like  t'  know  what  you  men  expect  of 
her  anyway,"  said  Elizabeth  Brower. 

"  A  high  stepper,"  said  Uncle  Eb.  "  We 
want  a  slick  coat,  a  kind  uv  a  toppy  head,  an 
161 


Eben  Holden 

a  lot  o'  ginger.     So't  when  we  hitch  'er  t'  the 
pole  bime  bye  we  shan't  be  'shamed  o'  her." 

"  Eggzac'ly,"  said  David  Brower,  laughing. 
"  An'  then  she  shall  have  the  best  harness  in 
the  market." 

Hope  did  not  seem  to  comprehend  all  the 
rustic  metaphors  that  had  been  applied  to  her. 
A  look  of  puzzled  amusement  came  over  her 
face,  and  then  she  ran  away  into  the  garden, 
her  hair  streaming  from  under  her  white  sun- 
bonnet. 

"  Never  see  sech  a  beauty !  Beats  the 
world,"  said  Uncle  Eb  in  a  whisper,  whereat 
both  David  and  Elizabeth  shook  their  heads. 

"Lord  o'  mercy!  Don't  let  her  know  it," 
Elizabeth  answered,  in  a  low  tone.  "  She's 
beginning  to  have  " 

Just  then  Hope  came  by  us  leading  her  pet 
filly  that  had  been  born  within  the  month. 
Immediately  Mrs.  Brower  changed  the  subject. 

"To  have  what?"  David  inquired  as  soon 
as  the  girl  was  out  of  hearing. 

"  Suspicions,"  said  Elizabeth  mournfully. 
"  Spends  a  good  deal  of  her  time  at  the  looking 
glass.  I  think  the  other  girls  tell  her  and 
then  that  young  Livingstone  has  been  turning 
her  head." 

"  Turning  her  head !  "  he  exclaimed. 
162 


Eben  Holden 

"  Turning  her  head,"  she  answered.  "  He 
sat  here  the  other  clay  and  deliberately  told  her 
that  he  had  never  seen  such  a  complexion  and 
such  lovely  hair." 

Elizabeth  Brower  mocked  his  accent  with  a 
show  of  contempt  that  feebly  echoed  my  own 
emotions. 

"  That's  the  way  o'  city  folks,  mother,"  said 
David. 

"  It's  a  bad  way,"  she  answered.  "  I  do  not 
think  he  ought  to  come  here.  Hope's  a  child 
yet,  and  we  mustn't  let  her  get  notions." 

"  I'll  tell  him  not  t'  come  any  more,"  said 
David,  as  he  and  Uncle  Eb  rose  to  go 
to  their  work. 

"  I'm  'fraid  she  ought  not  to  go  away  to 
school  for  a  year  yet,"  said  Elizabeth,  a 
troubled  look  in  her  face. 

"Pshaw,  mother!  Ye  can't  keep  her  un- 
der yer  wing  alwus,"  said  he. 

"  Well,  David,  you  know  she  is  very  young 
and  uncommonly "  she  hesitated. 

"  Han'some,"  said  he,  "  we  might  as  well 
own  up  if  she  is  our  child." 

"  If  she  goes  away,"  continued  Elizabeth, 
"  some  of  us  ought  t'  go  with  her." 

Then  Uncle  Eb  and  David  went  to  their 
work  in  the  fields  and  I  to  my  own  task.  That 
163 


Eben   Ho.lden 

very  evening  they  began  to  talk  of  renting 
the  farm  and  going  to  town  with  the  children. 
I  had  a  stent  of  cording  wood  that  day  and 
finished  it  before  two  o'clock.  Then  I  got  my 
pole  of  mountain  ash,  made  hook  and  line 
ready,  dug  some  worms  and  went  fishing.  I 
cared  not  so  much  for  the  fishing  as  for  the 
solitude  of  the  woods.  I  had  a  bit  of  thinking 
to  do.  In  the  thick  timber  there  was  a  place 
where  Tinkle  brook  began  to  hurry  and  break 
into  murmurs  on  a  pebble  bar,  as  if  its  feet 
were  tickled.  A  few  more  steps  and  it  burst 
into  a  peal  of  laughter  that  lasted  half  the  year 
as  it  tumbled  over  narrow  shelves  of  rock  into 
a  foamy  pool.  Many  a  day  I  had  sat  fishing 
for  hours  at  the  little  fall  under  a  birch  tree, 
among  the  brakes  and  moss.  No  ray  of  sun- 
light ever  got  to  the  dark  water  below  me — 
the  lair  of  many  a  big  fish  that  had  yielded  to 
the  temptation  of  my  bait.  Here  I  lay  in  the 
cool  shade  while  a  singular  sort  of  heart  sick- 
ness came  over  me.  A  wild  partridge  was 
beating  his  gong  in  the  near  woods  all  the 
afternoon.  The  sound  of  the  water  seemed  to 
break  in  the  tree  tops  and  fall  back  upon  me. 
I  had  lain  there  thinking  an  hour  or  more  when 
I    caught  the    jar  of    approaching  footsteps. 


164 


Eben  Holden 

Looking  up  I  saw  Jed  Feary  coming  through 
the  bushes,  pole  in  hand. 

"  Fishin'  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Only  thinking,"  I  answered. 

"  Couldn't  be  in  better  business,"  said  he  as 
he  sat  down  beside  me. 

More  than  once  he  had  been  my  father  con- 
fessor and  I  was  glad  he  had  come. 

"  In  love  ?  "  he  asked.  "  No  boy  ever  thinks 
unless  he's  in  love." 

"  In  trouble,"  said  I. 

"  Same  thing,"  he  answered,  lighting  his 
pipe.  "  Love  is  trouble  with  a  bit  of  sugar  in 
it — the  sweetest  trouble  a  man  can  have. 
What's  the  matter?" 

"  It's  a  great  secret,"  I  said,  "  I  have  never 
told  it.     I  am  in  love." 

"  Knew  it,"  he  said,  puffing  at  his  pipe  and 
smiling  in  a  kindly  way.  "  Now  let's  put  in 
the  trouble." 

"  She  does  not  love  me,"  I  answered. 

"  Glad  of  it,"  he  remarked.  "  I've  got  a 
secret  t'  tell  you." 

"What's  that?"  I  inquired. 

"  Wouldn't  tell  anybody  else  for  the  world, 
my  boy,"  he  said,  "  it's  between  you  an'  me." 

"  Between  you  an'  me,"  I  repeated. 


165 


Eben  Holden 

"  Well,"  he  said,"  you're  a  fool." 

"  That's  no  secret,"  I  answered  much  em- 
harassed. 

"  Yes  it  is,"  he  insisted,  "  you're  smart 
enough  an'  ye  can  have  most  anything  in  this 
world  if  ye  take  the  right  road.  Ye've  grown 
t'  be  a  great  big  strapping  fellow  but  you're 
only — sixteen?  " 

"  That's  all,"  I  said  mournfully. 

"  Ye're  as  big  a  fool  to  go  falling  in  love 
as  I'd  be.  Ye're  too  young  an'  I'm  too  old.  I 
say  to  you,  wait.     Ye've  got  to  go  t'  college." 

"  College !  "   I  exclaimed,  incredulously. 

"  Yes !  an'  thet's  another  secret,"  said  he.  I 
tol'  David  Brower  what  I  thought  o'  your 
writing  thet  essay  on  bugs  in  pertickler — an'  I 
tol'  'im  what  people  were  sayin'  o'  your  work 
in  school." 

"What  d'  he  say?"  I  asked. 

"  Said  Hope  had  tol'  him  all  about  it — that 
she  was  as  proud  o'  you  as  she  was  uv  her 
curls,  an'  I  believe  it.  '  Well,'  says  I,  '  y' 
onghter  sen'  that  boy  t'  college.'  '  Goin'  to.' 
says  he.  '  He'll  go  t'  the  'Cademy  this  fall  if 
he  wants  to.  Then  he  can  go  t'  college  soon's 
he's  ready.'  Threw  up  my  hat  an'  shouted  I 
was  that  glad." 

As  he  spoke  the  old  man's  face  kindled  with 
166 


Eben   Holden 

enthusiasm.  In  me  he  had  one  who  under- 
stood him,  who  saw  truth  in  his  thought 
music  in  his  verse,  a  noble  simplicity  in  his  soul. 
I  took  his  hand  in  mine  and  thanked  him 
heartily.  Then  we  rose  and  came  away  to- 
gether. 

"  Remember,"  he  said,  as  we  parted  at  the 
corner,  "  there's  a  way  laid  out  fer  you.  Ln 
God's  time  it  will  lead  to  every  good  thing 
you  desire.  Don't  jump  over  the  fence.  Don't 
try  t'  pass  any  milestun  'fore  ye've  come  to  it. 
Don't  mope.  Keep  yer  head  cool  with  philoso- 
phy, yer  feet  warm  with  travel  an'  don't  worry 
'bout  yer  heart.  It  won't  turn  t'  stun  if  ye  do 
keep  it  awhile.  Allwus  hev  enough  of  it  about 
ye  t'  do  business  with.     Good-by !  " 


167 


CHAPTER  XV 

Gerald  Brower,  who  was  a  baby  when  I 
came  to  live  at  Faraway,  and  was  now  eleven, 
had  caught  a  cold  in  seed  time,  and  he  had 
never  quite  recovered.  His  coughing  had  begun 
to  keep  him  awake,  and  one  night  it  brought 
alarm  to  the  whole  household.  Elizabeth 
Brower  was  up  early  in  the  morning  and  called 
Uncle  Eb,  who  went  away  for  the  doctor  as 
soon  as  light  came.  We  ate  our  breakfast  in 
silence.  Father  and  mother  and  Grandma 
Bisnette  spoke  only  in  low  tones  and  somehow 
the  anxiety  in  their  faces  went  to  my  heart. 
Uncle  Eb  returned  about  eight  o'clock  and  said 
the  doctor  was  coming.  Old  Doctor  Bigsby 
was  a  very  great  man  in  that  country.  Other 
physicians  called  him  far  and  wide  for  consulta- 
tion. I  had  always  regarded  him  with  a  kind 
of  awe  intensified  by  the  aroma  of  his 
drugs  and  the  gleam  of  his  lancet.  Once 
I  had  been  his  patient  and  then  I 
had  trembled  at  his  approach.  When  he  took 
my  little  wrist,  in  his  big  hand,  I  remember  with 
what  reluctance  I  stuck  out  my  quivering 
168 


Eben  Holden 

tongue,  black,  as  I  feared  with  evidences  of  pre- 
varication. 

He  was  a  picture  for  a  painter  man  as  he 
came  that  morning  erect  in  his  gig.  Who 
could  forget  the  hoary  majesty  of  his  head — 
his  "  stove  pipe  "  tilted  back,  his  white  locks  fly- 
ing about  his  ears?  He  had  a  long  nose,  a 
smooth  shaven  face  and  a  left  eye  that  was  a 
trifle  turned.  His  thoughts  were  generally 
one  day  behind  the  calendar.  To-day  he 
seemed  to  be  digesting  the  affairs  of  yesterday. 
He  was,  therefore,  absent  minded,  to  a  degree 
that  made  no  end  of  gossip.  If  he  came  out 
one  day  with  shoe-strings  flying,  in  his  remorse 
the  next  he  would  forget  his  collar;  if  one  told 
him  a  good  joke  to-day,  he  might  not  seem  to 
hear  it,  but  to-morrow  he  would  take  it  up  in 
its  turn  and  shake  with  laughter. 

I  remember  how,  that  morning  after  noting 
the  symptoms  of  his  patient,  he  sat  a  little  in 
silent  reflection.  He  knew  that  color  in  the 
cheek,  that  look  in  the  eye — he  had  seen  so 
much  of  it.  His  legs  were  crossed  and 
one  elbow  thrown  carelessly  over  the  back  of 
his  chair.  We  all  sat  looking  at  him  anx- 
iously. In  a  moment  he  began  chewing  hard 
on  his  quid  of  tobacco.  Uncle  Eb  pushed  the 
cuspidor  a  bit  nearer.  The  doctor  expec- 
169 


Eben  Holden 

torated  freely  and  resumed  his  attitude  of  re- 
flection. The  clock  ticked  loudly,  the  patient 
sighed,  our  anxiety  increased.  Uncle  Eb  spoke 
to  father,  in  a  low  tone,  whereupon  the  doctor 
turned  suddenly,  with  a  little  grunt  of  inquiry, 
and  seeing  he  was  not  addressed,  sank  again 
into  thoughtful  repose.  I  had  begun  to  fear 
the  worst  when  suddenly  the  hand  of  the  doc- 
tor swept  the  bald  peak  of  benevolence  at  the 
top  of  his  head.  Then  a  smile  began  to 
spread  over  his  face.  It  was  as  if  some  feather 
of  thought  had  begun  to  tickle  him.  In  a  mo- 
ment his  head  was  nodding  with  laughter  that 
brought  a  great  sense  of  relief  to  all  of  us.  In 
a  slow,  deliberate  tone  he  began  to  speak. 

"  I  was  over  t'  Rat  Tupper's  t'other  day," 
said  he,  "  Rat  was  sitting  with  me  in  the  door 
yard.  Purty  soon  a  young  chap  came  in,  with 
a  scythe,  and  asked  if  he  might  use  the  grind- 
stun.  He  was  a  new  hired  man  from  some- 
where near.  He  didn't  know  Rat,  an'  Rat 
didn't  know  him.  So  Rat  o'  course  had  t' 
crack  one  o'  his  jokes. 

"  '  May  I  use  yer  grindstun  ?  '  said  the  young 
feller. 

"  '  Dunno,'  said  Rat,  '  I'm  only  the  hired 
man  here.     Go  an'  ask  Mis'  Tupper.' 


170 


Eben  Holden 

"  The  ol'  lady  had  overheard  him  an'  so  she 
says  t'  the  young  feller,  '  Yes— ye  can  use  the 
grindstun.  The  hired  man  out  there'll  turn 
it  fer  ye.' 

"  Rat  see  he  was  trapped,  an'  so  he  went 
out  under  the  plum  tree,  where  the  stun  was, 
an'  begun  t'  turn.  The  scythe  was  dull  an'  the 
young  feller  bore  on  harder'n  wuz  reely  decent 
fer  a  long  time.  Rat  begun  t'  git  very  sober 
lookin'. 

Aint  ye  'bout  done,'  said  he. 

Purty  nigh,'  said  the  young  feller  bearin' 
down  a  leetle  harder  all  the  time. 

"  Rat  made  the  stun  go  faster.  Purty  soon 
he  asked  agin,  '  Aint  ye  done  yit?  ' 

Purty  nigh !  '  says  the  other  feeling  o'  the 
edge. 

"  '  I'm  done,'  said  Rat,  an'  he  let  go  o'  the 
handle.  '  I  dunno  'bout  the  scythe  but  I'm  a 
good  deal  sharper'n  I  wuz.' 

You're  the  hired  man  here  aint  ye?  '  said 
the  young   feller. 

No,  I  aint,'  said  Rat.  |  'D  ruther  own  up 
t'  bein'  a  liar  than  turn  that  stun  another  min- 
nit.'  " 

As  soon  as  he  was  fairly  started  with  this 
droll  narrative  the  strain  of  the  situation  was 


171 


Eben   Holden 

relieved.  We  were  all  laughing  as  much  at  his 
deliberate  way  of  narration  as  at  the  story 
itself. 

Suddenly  he  turned  to  Elizabeth  Brower  and 
said,  very  soberly,  "  Will  you  bring  me  some 
water  in  a  glass?  " 

Then  he  opened  his  chest  of  medicine,  made 
some  powders  and  told  us  how  to  give  them. 

"  In  a  few  days  I  would  take  him  into  the  big 
woods  for  a  while,"  he  said.  "  See  how  it 
agrees  with  him." 

Then  he  gathered  up  his  things  and  mother 
went  with  him  to  the  gig. 

Humor  was  one  of  the  specifics  of  Doctor 
Bigsby.  He  was  always  a  poor  man.  He  had 
a  way  of  lumping  his  bills,  at  about  so  much, 
in  settlement  and  probably  never  kept  books. 
A  side  of  pork  paid  for  many  a  long  journey. 
He  came  to  his  death  riding  over  the  hills  one 
bitter  day  not  long  after  the  time  of  which  I 
write,  to  reach  a  patient. 

The  haying  over,  we  made  ready  for  our  trip 
into  the  woods.  Uncle  Eb  and  Tip  Taylor, 
who  knew  the  forest,  and  myself,  were  to  go 
with  Gerald  to  Blueberry  Lake.  We  loaded 
our  wagon  with  provisions  one  evening  and 
made  ready  to  be  off  at  the  break  of  day. 


172 


CHAPTER  XVI 

I  remember  how  hopefully  we  started  that 
morning-  with  Elizabeth  Brower  and  Hope 
waving  their  handkerchiefs  on  the  porch  and 
David  near  them  whittling.  They  had  told  us 
what  to  do  and  what  not  to  do  over  and  over 
again.  I  sat  with  Gerald  on  blankets  that  were 
spread  over  a  thick  mat  of  hay.  The  morning 
air  was  sweet  with  the  odor  of  new  hay  and  the 
music  of  the  bobolink.  Uncle  Eb  and  Tip  Tay- 
lor sang  merrily  as  we  rode  over  the  hills. 

When  we  entered  the  shade  of  the  big  forest 
Uncle  Eb  got  out  his  rifle  and  loaded  it.  He 
sat  a  long  time  whispering  and  looking  eagerly 
for  game  to  right  and  left.  He  was  still  a  boy. 
One  could  see  evidences  of  age  only  in  his  white 
hair  and  beard  and  wrinkled  brow.  He  re- 
tained the  little  tufts  in  front  of  his  ears,  and 
lately  had  grown  a  silver  crescent  of  thin  and 
silky  hair  that  circled  his  throat  under  a  bare 
chin.  Young  as  I  was  I  had  no  keener  relish 
for  a  holiday  than  he.  At  noon  we  halted  be- 
side a  brook  and  unhitched  our  horses.  Then 
we  caught  some  fish,  built  a  fire  and  cooked 
!73 


Eben   Holden 

them,  and  brewed  our  tea.  At  sunset  we  halted 
at  Tuley  Pond,  looking  along  its  reedy  margin, 
under  purple  tamaracks,  for  deer.  There  was 
a  great  silence,  here  in  the  deep  of  the  woods, 
and  Tip  Taylor's  axe,  while  he  peeled  the  bark 
for  our  camp,  seemed  to  fill  the  wilderness  with 
echoes.  It  was  after  dark  when  the  shanty  was 
covered  and  we  lay  on  its  fragrant  mow  of  bal- 
sam and  hemlock.  The  great  logs  that  we  had 
rolled  in  front  of  our  shanty  were  set  afire  and 
shortly  supper  was  cooking. 

Gerald  had  stood  the  journey  well.  Uncle 
Eb  and  he  stayed  in  while  Tip  and  I  got  our 
jack  ready  and  went  off  in  quest  of  a  dugout. 
He  said  Bill  Ellsworth  had  one  hid  in  a  thicket 
on  the  south  side  of  Tuley.  We  found  it  after 
an  hour's  tramp  near  by.  It  needed  a  little  re- 
pairing but  we  soon  made  it  water  worthy,  and 
then  took  our  seats,  he  in  the  stern,  with  the 
paddle,  and  I  in  the  bow  with  the  gun.  Slowly 
and  silently  we  clove  a  way  through  the  star- 
sown  shadows.  It  was  like  the  hushed  and 
mystic  movement  of  a  dream.  We  seemed  to 
be  above  the  deep  of  heaven,  the  stars  below  us. 
The  shadow  of  the  forest  in  the  still  water 
looked  like  the  wall  of  some  mighty  castle  with 
towers  and  battlements  and  myriads  of  win- 
dows lighted  for  a  fete.  Once  the  groan  of  a 
i74 


Eben  Holden 

night-hawk  fell  out  of  the  upper  air  with  a 
sound  like  that  of  a  stone  striking  in  water. 
I  thought  little  of  the  deer  Tip  was  after.  His 
only  aim  in  life  was  the  one  he  got  with  a  gun 
barrel.  I  had  forgotten  all  but  the  beauty  of 
the  scene.  Suddenly  Tip  roused  me  by  laying 
his  hand  to  the  gunwale  and  gently  shaking  the 
dugout.  In  the  dark  distance,  ahead  of  us, 
I  could  hear  the  faint  tinkle  of  dripping  water. 
Then  I  knew  a  deer  was  feeding  not  far  away 
and  that  the  water  was  falling  from  his  muzzle. 
When  I  opened  my  jack  we  were  close  upon 
him.  His  eyes  gleamed.  I  shot  high  above 
the  deer  that  went  splashing  ashore  before  I 
had  pulled  my  trigger.  After  the  roar  of  the 
gun  had  got  away,  in  the  distant  timber,  Tip 
mentioned  a  place  abhorred  of  all  men,  turned 
and  paddled  for  the  landing. 

"  Could  'a  killed  'im  with  a  club,"  said  he 
snickering.  "  Guess  he  must  a  looked  purty 
tall  didn't  he?" 

"Why?"  I  asked. 

"  Cos  ye  aimed  into  the  sky,"  said  he. 
"  Mebbe  ye  thought  he  was  a  bird." 

"  My  hand  trembled  a  little,"  said  I. 

"  'Minds  me  of  Bill  Barber,"  he  said  in  a 
half  whisper,  as  he  worked  his  paddle,  chuck- 
ling with  amusement. 

i75 


Eben  Holden 

"  How's  that?"  I  asked. 

"  Nothiir  safe  but  the  thing  he  shoots  at," 
said  he.  "  Terrible  bad  shot.  Kills  a  cow 
every  time  he  goes  huntin'." 

Uncle  Eb  was  stirring  the  fire  when  we  came 
whispering  into  camp,  and  Gerald  lay  asleep 
under  the  blankets. 

"  Willie  couldn't  hit  the  broadside  of  a 
barn,"  said  Tip.     "  He  don't  take  to  it  nat'ral." 

"  Killin'  an'  book  learnin'  don't  often  go  to- 
gether," said  Uncle  Eb. 

I  turned  in  by  the  side  of  Gerald  and  Uncle 
Eb  went  off  with  Tip  for  another  trip  in  the 
dugout.  The  night  was  chilly  but  the  fire 
flooded  our  shanty  with  its  warm  glow.  What 
with  the  light,  and  the  boughs  under  us,  and 
the  strangeness  of  the  black  forest  we  got  little 
sleep.  I  heard  the  gun  roar  late  in  the  night, 
and  when  I  woke  again  Uncle  Eb  and  Tip 
Tavlor  were  standing  over  the  fire  in  the  chilly 
gray  of  the  morning.  A  dead  deer  hung  on 
the  limb  of  a  tree  near  by.  They  began  dress- 
ing it  while  Gerald  and  I  went  to  the  spring  for 
water,  peeled  potatoes,  and  got  the  pots  boiling. 
After  a  hearty  breakfast  we  packed  up,  and 
were  soon  on  the  road  again,  reaching  Blue- 
berry Lake  before  noon.  There  we  hired  a 
boat  of  the  lonely  keeper  of  the  reservoir, 
176 


Eben  Holden 

found  an  abandoned  camp  with  an  excellent 
bark  shanty  and  made  ourselves  at  home. 

That  evening  in  camp  was  one  to  be  remem- 
bered. Ab  Thomas,  the  guide  who  tended  the 
reservoir,  came  over  and  sat  beside  our  fire 
until  bedtime.  He  had  spent  years  in  the 
wilderness  going  out  for  nothing  less  im- 
portant than  an  annual  spree  at  circus  time. 
He  eyed  us  over,  each  in  turn,  as  if  he  thought 
us  all  very  rare  and  interesting. 

"  Many  bears  here?  "  Uncle  Eb  inquired. 

"  More  plenty  'n  human  Item's, "  he  an- 
swered, puffing  lazily  at  his  pipe  with  a  dead 
calm  in  his  voice  and  manner  that  I  have  never 
seen  equaled  except  in  a  tropic  sea. 

"  See  'em  often  ?  "  I  asked. 

He  emptied  his  pipe,  striking  it  on  his  palm 
until  the  bowl  rang,  without  answering.  Then 
he  blew  into  the  stem  with  great  violence. 

"  Three  or  four  'n  a  summer,  mebbe,"  he 
said  at  length. 

"  Ever  git  sassy?  "  Uncle  Eb  asked. 

He  whipped  a  coal  out  of  the  ashes  then  and 
lifted  it  in  his  fingers  to  the  bowl  of  his  pipe. 

"  Never  real  sassy,"  he  said  between  vigor- 
ous puffs.     "  One  stole  a  ham  off  my  pyazz 
las'  summer;  Al  Fifield  brought  't  in  fer  me 
one  day — smelt  good  too !     I  kep'  savin'  uv  it 
177 


Eben  Holden 

thinkin'  I'd  enjoy  it  all  the  more  when  I  did 
hev  it.  One  day  I  went  off  cuttin'  timber  an' 
stayed  'til  mos'  night.  Comin'  home  I  got  t' 
thinkin'  o'  thet  ham,  an'  made  up  my  mind  I'd 
hev  some  fer  supper.  The  more  I  thought  uv  it 
the  faster  I  hurried  an'  when  I  got  hum  I  was 
hungrier'n  I'd  been  fer  a  year.  When  I  see 
the  ol'  bear's  tracks  an'  the  empty  peg  where 
the  ham  had  hung  I  went  t'  work  an'  got  mad. 
Then  I  started  after  thet  bear.  Tracked  'im 
over  yender,  up  Cat  Mountin'." 

Here  Ab  paused.  He  had  a  way  of  stopping 
always  at  the  most  interesting  point  to  puff  at 
his  pipe.  It  looked  as  if  he  were  getting  up 
steam  for  another  sentence  and  these  delays 
had  the  effect  of  "  continued  in  our  next." 

"  Kill  'im  ?  "  Uncle  Eb  asked. 

"  Licked  him,"  he  said. 

"  Huh !  "  we  remarked  incredulously. 

"  Licked  'im,"  he  repeated  chuckling. 
"  Went  into  his  cave  with  a  sled  stake  an' 
whaled  'im — whaled  'im  'til  he  run  fer  his  life." 

Whether  it  was  true  or  not  I  have  never  been 
sure,  even  to  this  day,  but  Ab's  manner  was  at 
once  modest  and  convincing. 

"  Should  'a  thought  he'd  'a  rassled  with  ye," 
Uncle  Eb  remarked. 

"  Didn't  give  'im  time,"  said  Ab,  as  he  took 
178 


Eben  Holden 

out  his  knife  and  began  slowly  to  sharpen  a 
stick. 

*  "  Don't  never  wan'  t'  rassle  with  no  bear," 
he  added,  ■"  but  hams  is  too  scurce  here  'n  the 
woods  t'  hev  'em  tuk  away  'fore  ye  know  the 
taste  uv  'em.  I  aint  never  been  hard  on  bears. 
Don't  seldom  ever  set  no  traps  an'  I  aint  shot  a 
bear  fer  mor'n  'n  ten  year.  But  they've  got  t' 
be  decent.  If  any  bear  steals  my  vittles  he's 
goin'  t'  git  cuffed  hard." 

Ab's  tongue  had  limbered  up  at  last.  His 
pipe  was  well  a  going  and  he  seemed  to  have 
struck  an  easy  grade.  There  was  a  tone  of  in- 
jury and  aggrievement  in  his  talk  of  the  bear's 
ingratitude.  He  smiled  ver  his  whittling  as 
we  laughed  heartily  at  4'      Iroll  effect  of  it  all. 

"  D'ye  ever  hear  o'  '  wild  man  'at  roams 
'round'n  these  woods  D         -  asked. 

"  Never  did,"  said  ^  it.    :  Eb. 

"  I've  seen  'im  more  times  'n  ye  could  shake 
a  stick  at,"  said  Ab  crossing  his  legs  comforta- 
bly and  spitting  into  the  fire.  "  Kind  o'  think 
he's  the  same  man  folks  tells  uv  down  'n  Para- 
dise Valley  there — 'at  goes  'round  'n  the  clear- 
in'  after  bedtime." 

"  The  night  man !  "  I  exclaimed. 

"  Guess  thet's  what  they  call  'im,"  said  Ab. 
"  Curus    man !     Sometimes    I've   hed    a  good 
i79 


Eben   Holden 

squint  at  'im  off  'n  the  woods.  He's  wilder  'n 
a  deer  an'  I've  seen  'im  jump  over  logs,  half  as 
high  as  this  shanty,  jest  as  easy  as  ye  'd  hop  a 
twig.  Tried  t'  foller  'im  once  er  twice  but 
tain'  no  use.     He's  quicker  'n  a  wil'  cat." 

"  What  kind  of  a  lookin'  man  is  he?  "  Tip 
Taylor  asked. 

"  Great,  big,  broad  shouldered  feller,"  said 
Ab.  "  Six  feet  tall  if  he's  an  inch.  Hed  a 
kind  of  a  deerskin  jacket  on  when  I  seen  'im  an' 
breeches  an'  moccasins  made  o'  some  kind  o' 
hide.  I  recollec'  one  day  I  was  over  on  the 
ridge  two  mile  er  more  from  the  Stillwater 
goin'  south.  I  seen  'im  gittin'  a  drink  at  the 
spring  there  'n  the  burnt  timber.  An'  if  I  aint 
mistaken  there  was  a  real  live  panther  playin' 
'round  'im.  If  't  wa'n't  a  panther  t'  was  pesky 
nigh  it  I  can  tell  ye.  The  critter  see  me  fust 
an'  drew  up  'is  back.  Then  the  man  got  up 
quickerin'  a  flash.  Soon  's  he  see  me — Jeemi- 
mey!  didn't  they  move.  Never  see  no  human 
critter  run  as  he  did !  A  big  tree  hed  fell  'cross 
a  lot  o'  bush  right  'n  his  path.  I'll  be  gol  dum- 
med  if  t'  wan't  higher  'n  my  head!  But  he 
cleared  it — jest  as  easy  as  a  grasshopper 
'd  go  over  a  straw.  I'd  like  t'  know  wher  he 
comes  from,  gol  dummed  if  I  wouldn't.     He's 


180 


Eben   Holden 

the  consarndest  queerest  animal  'n  these 
woods." 

Ab  emphasized  this  lucid  view  of  the  night 
man  by  an  animated  movement  of  his  fist  that 
held  the  big  hunting  knife  with  which  he 
whittled.  Then  he  emptied  his  pipe  and  began 
cutting  more  tobacco. 

"  Some  says  'e  's  a  ghost/'  said  Tip  Taylor, 
splitting  his  sentence  with  a  yawn,  as  he  lay 
on  a  buffalo  robe  in  the  shanty. 

"Shucks  an'  shoestrings!"  said  Ab,  "he 
looks  too  nat'ral.  Don't  believe  no  ghost  ever 
wore  whiskers  an'  long  hair  like  his'n.  Thet 
don't  hoi'  t'  reason." 

This  remark  was  followed  by  dead  silence. 
Tip  seemed  to  lack  both  courage  and  informa- 
tion with  which  to  prolong  the  argument. 

Gerald  had  long  been  asleep  and  we  were  all 
worn  out  with  up  hill  traveling  and  the  lack  of 
rest.  Uncle  Eb  went  out  to  look  after  the 
horses  that  were  tethered  near  us.  Ab  rose, 
looked  up  through  the  tree  tops,  ventured  a 
guess  about  the  weather,  and  strode  off  into  the 
darkness. 

We  were  five  days  in  camp,  hunting,  fishing, 
fighting  flies  and  picking  blueberries.  Gerald's 
cough  had  not  improved  at  all — it  was,  if  any- 


181 


Eben  Holden 

thing,  a  bit  worse  than  it  had  been  and  the 
worry  of  that  had  clouded  our  holiday.  We 
were  not  in  high  spirits  when,  finally  we  de- 
cided to  break  camp  the  next  afternoon. 

The  morning  of  our  fourth  day  at  Blueberry 
Uncle  Eb  and  I  crossed  the  lake,  at  daylight,  to 
fish  awhile  in  Soda  Brook  and  gather  orchids 
then  abundant  and  beautiful  in  that  part  of  the 
woods.  We  headed  for  camp  at  noon  and 
were  well  away  from  shore  when  a  wild  yell 
rang  in  the  dead  timber  that  choked  the  wide 
inlet  behind  us.  I  was  rowing  and  stopped  the 
oars  while  we  both  looked  back  at  the  naked 
trees,  belly  deep  in  the  water. 

But  for  the  dry  limbs,  here  and  there,  they 
would  have  looked  like  masts  of  sunken  ships. 
In  a  moment  another  wild  whoop  came  rushing 
over  the  water.  Thinking  it  might  be  some- 
body in  trouble  we  worked  about  and  pulled 
for  the  mouth  of  the  inlet.  Suddenly  I  saw  a 
boat  coming  in  the  dead  timber.  There  were 
three  men  in  it,  two  of  whom  were  paddling. 
They  yelled  like  mad  men  as  they  caught  sight 
of  us,  and  one  of  them  waved  a  bottle  in  the 
air. 

"  They're  Indians,"  said  Uncle  Eb.  "  Drunk 
as  lords.  Guess  we'd  better  git  out  o'  the 
way." 

182 


Eben  Holden 

I  put  about  and  with  a  hearty  pull  made  for 
the  other  side  of  the  lake,  three  miles  away. 
The  Indians  came  after  us,  their  yells  echoing 
in  the  far  forest.  Suddenly  one  of  them  lifted 
his  rifle,  as  if  taking  aim  at  us,  and,  bang  it 
went    the    ball    ricochetting  across  our  bows. 

"  Crazy  drunk,"  said  Uncle  Eb,  "  an'  they're 
in  fer  trouble.     Pull  with  all  yer  might." 

I  did  that  same  putting  my  arms  so  stiffly  to 
their  task  I  feared  the  oars  would  break. 

In  a  moment  another  ball  came  splintering 
the  gunwales  right  between  us,  but  for- 
tunately, well  above  the  water  line.  Being 
half  a  mile  from  shore  I  saw  we  were  in  great 
peril.  Uncle  Eb  reached  for  his  rifle,  his  hand 
trembling. 

"  Sink  'em,"  I  shouted,  "  an'  do  it  quick  or 
they'll  sink  us." 

My  old  companion  took  careful  aim  and  his 
ball  hit  them  right  on  the  starboard  bow  below 
the  water  line.  A  splash  told  where  it  had 
landed.  They  stopped  yelling.  The  man  in 
the  bow  clapped  his  hat  against  the  side  of  the 
boat. 

"  Guess  we've  gin  'em  a  little  business  t'  ten' 
to,"  said  Uncle  Eb  as  he  made  haste  to  load  his 
rifle. 

The  Indian  at  the  bow  was  lifting  his  rifle 
183 


Eben  Holden 

again.  He  seemed  to  reel  as  he  took  aim.  He 
was  very  slow  about  it.  I  kept  pulling  as  I 
watched  him.  I  saw  that  their  boat  was 
slowly  sinking.  I  had  a  strange  fear  that  he 
would  hit  me  in  the  stomach.  I  dodged  when 
I  saw  the  flash  of  his  rifle.  His  ball  struck  the 
water,  tea  feet  away  from  us,  and  threw  a  spray 
into  my  face. 

Uncle  Eb  had  lifted  his  rifle  to  shoot  again. 
Suddenly  the  Indian,  who  had  shot  at  us, 
went  overboard.  In  a  second  they  were  all  in 
the  water,  their  boat  bottom  up. 

"  Now  take  yer  time,"  said  Uncle  Eb  coolly, 
a  frown  upon  his  face. 

"  They'll  drown,"  said  I. 

"  Don't  care  if  they  do,  consarn  'em,"  he 
answered.  "  They're  some  o'  them  St.  Regis 
devils,  an'  when  they  git  whisky  in  'em  they'd 
jes'  soon  kill  ye  as  look  at  ye.  They  ain'  no 
better  'n  rats." 

We  kept  on  our  way  and  by  and  by  a  wind 
came  up  that  gave  us  both  some  comfort,  for 
we  knew  it  would  soon  blow  them  ashore. 
Ab  Thomas  had  come  to  our  camp  and  sat  with 
Tip  and  Gerald  when  we  got  there.  We  told 
of  our  adventure  and  then  Ab  gave  us  a  bad 
turn,  and  a  proper  appreciation  of  our  luck, 


184 


Eben  Holden 

by  telling  us  that  they  were  a  gang  of  cut- 
throats— the  worst  in  the  wilderness. 

"  They'd  a  robbed  ye  sure,"  he  said.  "  It's 
the  same  gang  'at  killed  a  man  on  Cat  Moun- 
tain las'  summer,  an'  I'll  bet  a  dollar  on  it." 

Tip  had  everything  ready  for  our  journey 
home.  Each  day  Gerald  had  grown  paler  and 
thinner.  As  we  wrapped  him  in  a  shawl  and 
tenderly  helped  him  into  the  wagon  I  read  his 
doom  in  his  face.  We  saw  so  much  of  that 
kind  of  thing  in  our  stern  climate  we  knew 
what  it  meant.  Our  fun  was  over.  We  sat 
in  silence,  speeding  down  the  long  hills  in  the 
fading  light  of  the  afternoon.  Those  few 
solemn  hours  in  which  I  heard  only  the 
wagon's  rumble  and  the  sweet  calls  of  the 
whippoorwill — waves  of  music  on  a  sea  of  si- 
lence— started  me  in  a  way  of  thought  which 
has  led  me  high  and  low  these  many  years  and 
still  invites  me.  The  day  was  near  its  end  when 
we  got  to  the  first  big  clearing.  From  the  top 
of  a  high  hill  we  could  see  above  the  far 
forest,  the  red  rim  of  the  setting  sun, 
big  with  winding  from  the  skein  of  day, 
that  was  now  flying  off  the  tree  tops  in  the 
west. 

We  stopped  to  feed  the  horses  and  to  take  a 

185 


Eben  Holden 

bite  of  jerked  venison,  wrapped  ourselves 
warmer,  for  it  was  now  dusk  and  chilly,  and 
went  on  again.  The  road  went  mostly  down 
hill,  going  out  of  the  woods,  and  we  could 
make  good  time.  It  was  near  midnight  when 
we  drove  in  at  our  gate.  There  was  a  light 
in  the  sitting-room  and  Uncle  Eb  and  I  went 
in  with  Gerald  at  once.  Elizabeth  Brower  knelt 
at  the  feet  of  her  son,  unbuttoned  his  coat  and 
took  off  his  muffler.  Then  she  put  her  arms 
about  his  neck  while  neither  spoke  nor  uttered 
any  sound.  Both  mother  and  son  felt  and  un- 
derstood and  were  silent.  The  ancient  law  of 
God,  that  rends  asunder  and  makes  havoc  of 
our  plans,  bore  heavy  on  them  in  that  moment, 
I  have  no  doubt,  but  neither  murmured.  Uncle 
Eb  began  to  pump  vigorously  at  the  cistern 
while  David  fussed  with  the  fire.  We  were 
all  quaking  inwardly  but  neither  betrayed  a 
sign  of  it.  It  is  a  way  the  Puritan  has  of  suf- 
fering. His  emotions  are  like  the  deep  under 
currents  of  the  sea. 


186 


CHAPTER  XVII 

If  I  were  writing  a  novel  merely  I  should 
try  to  fill  it  with  merriment  and  good  cheer.  I 
should  thrust  no  sorrow  upon  the  reader  save 
that  he  might  feel  for  having  wasted  his  time. 
We  have  small  need  of  manufactured  sorrow 
when,  truly,  there  is  so  much  of  the  real  thing 
on  every  side  of  us.  But  this  book  is  nothing 
more  nor  less  than  a  history,  and  by  the  same 
token  it  cannot  be  all  as  I  would  have  wished 
it.  In  October  following  the  events  of  the  last 
chapter,  Gerald  died  of  consumption,  having 
borne  a  lingering  illness  with  great  fortitude. 
I,  who  had  come  there  a  homeless  orphan  in  a 
basket,  and  who,  with  the  God-given  eloquence 
of  childhood  had  brought  them  to  take  me  to 
their  hearts  and  the  old  man  that  was  with  me 
as  well,  was  now  the  only  son  left  to  Elizabeth 
and  David  Brower.  There  were  those  who 
called  it  folly  at  the  time  they  took  us  in,  I 
have  heard,  but  he  who  shall  read  this  history 
to  the  end  shall  see  how  that  kind  of  folly  may 
profit  one  or  even  many  here  in  this  hard 
world. 

187 


Eben  Holden 

It  was  a  gloomy  summer  for  all  of  us.  The 
industry  and  patience  with  which  Hope  bore 
her  trial,  night  and  day,  is  the  sweetest  recol- 
lection of  my  youth.  It  brought  to  her  young 
face  a  tender  soberness  of  womanhood — a  sub- 
tle change  of  expression  that  made  her  all  the 
more  dear  to  me.  Every  day,  rain  or  shine, 
the  old  doctor  had  come  to  visit  his  patient, 
sometimes  sitting  an  hour  and  gazing  thought- 
fully in  his  face,  occasionally  asking  a  question, 
or  telling  a  quaint  anecdote.  And  then  came 
the  end. 

The  sky  was  cold  and  grey  in  the  late 
autumn  and  the  leaves  were  drifted  deep  in  the 
edge  of  the  woodlands  when  Hope  and  I  went 
away  to  school  together  at  Hillsborough. 
Uncle  Eb  drove  us  to  our  boarding  place  in 
town.  When  we  bade  him  good-by  and  saw 
him  driving  away,  alone  in  the  wagon,  we 
hardly  dared  look  at  each  other  for  the  tears  in 
our  eyes. 

David  Brower  had  taken  board  for  us  at  the 
house  of  one  Solomon  Rollin — universally 
known  as  "Cooky"  Rollin;  that  was  one  of 
the  first  things  I  learned  at  the  Academy.  It 
seemed  that  many  years  ago  he  had  taken  his 
girl  to  a  dance  and  offered  her,  in  lieu  of  supper, 
cookies  that  he  had  thoughtfully  brought  with 


Eben   Holden 

him.  Thus  cheaply  he  had  come  to  life-long 
distinction. 

"  You  know  Rollin's  Ancient  History,  don't 
you  ?  "  the  young-  man  asked  who  sat  with  me 
at  school  that  first  day. 

"  Have  it  at  home,"  I  answered,  "  It's  in  five 
volumes." 

"  I  mean  the  history  of  Sol  Rollin,  the  man 
you  are  boarding  with,"  said  he  smiling  at  me 
and  then  he  told  the  story  of  the  cookies. 

The  principal  of  the  Hillsborough  Academy 
was  a  big,  brawny  bachelor  of  Scotch  descent, 
with  a  stern  face  and  cold,  grey,  glaring  eyes. 
When  he  stood  towering  above  us  on  his  plat- 
form in  the  main  room  of  the  building  where  I 
sat,  there  was  an  alertness  in  his  figure,  and  a 
look  of  responsibility  in  his  face,  that  re- 
minded me  of  the  pictures  of  Napoleon  at 
Waterloo.  He  always  carried  a  stout  ruler 
that  had  blistered  a  shank  of  every  mischievous 
boy  in  school.  As  he  stood  by  the  line,  that 
came  marching  into  prayers  every  morning  he 
would  frequently  pull  out  a  boy,  administer  a 
loud  whack  or  two,  shake  him  violently  and 
force  him  into  a  seat.  The  day  I  began  my 
studies  at  the  Academy  I  saw  him  put  two  dents 
in  the  wall  with  the  heels  of  a  young  man  who 
had  failed  in  his  algebra.  To  a  bashful  and 
189 


Eben   Holden 

sensitive  youth,  just  out  of  a  country  home,  the 
sight  of  such  violence  was  appalling.  My  first 
talk  with  him,  however,  renewed  my  courage. 
He  had  heard  I  was  a  good  scholar  and  talked 
with  me  in  a  friendly  way  about  my  plans. 
Both  Hope  and  I  were  under  him  in  algebra 
and  Latin.  I  well  remember  my  first  error  in 
his  class.  I  had  misconstrued  a  Latin  sen- 
tence. He  looked  at  me,  a  smile  and  a  sneer 
crowding  each  other  for  possession  of  his  face. 
In  a  loud,  jeering  tone  he  cried :  "  Mirabile 
dictu !  " 

I  looked  at  him  in  doubt  of  his  meaning. 

"  Mirabile  dictu !"  he  shouted,  his  tongue 
trilling  the  r — . 

I  corrected  my  error. 

"  Perfect !  "  he  cried  again.  "  Puer  pulchre ! 
Next!" 

He  never  went  further  than  that  with  me  in 
the  way  of  correction.  My  size  and  my  skill  as  a 
wrestler,  that  shortly  ensured  for  me  the  respect 
of  the  boys,  helped  me  to  win  the  esteem  of  the 
master.  I  learned  my  lessons  and  kept  out  of 
mischief.  But  others  of  equal  proficiency  were 
not  so  fortunate.  He  was  apt  to  be  hard  on  a 
light  man  who  could  be  handled  without  over- 
exertion. 

Uncle  Eb  came  in  to  see  me  one  day  and  sat 
190 


Eben  Holden 

awhile  with  me  in  my  seat.  While  he  was 
there  the  master  took  a  boy  by  the  collar  and  al- 
most literally  wiped  the  blackboard  with  him. 
There  was  a  great  clatter  of  heels  for  a  mo- 
ment. Uncle  Eb  went  away  shortly  and  was 
at  Sol  Rollin's  when  I  came  to  dinner. 

"  Powerful  man  aint  he?  "  said  Uncle  Eb. 

"  Rather,"  I  said. 

"  Turned  that  boy  into  a  reg'lar  horse  fid- 
dle," he  remarked.  "  Must  'ave  unsot  his 
reason." 

"Unnecessary!"  I  said. 

"  Reminded  me  o'  the  time  'at  Tip  Taylor 
got  his  tooth  pulled,"  said  he.  "  Shook  'im  up 
so  'at  he  thought  he'd  had  his  neck  put  out  o' 
ji'nt." 

Sol  Rollin  was  one  of  my  studies  that  winter. 
He  was  a  carpenter  by  trade  and  his  oddities 
were  new  and  delightful.  He  whistled  as  he 
worked,  he  whistled  as  he  read,  he  whistled 
right  merrily  as  he  walked  up  and  down  the 
streets — a  short,  slight  figure  with  a  round 
boyish  face  and  a  fringe  of  iron  grey  hair  under 
his  chin.  The  little  man  had  one  big  passion — 
that  for  getting  and  saving.  The  ancient 
thrift  of  his  race  had  pinched  him  small  and 
narrow  as  a  foot  is  stunted  by  a  tight  shoe. 
His  mind  was  a  bit  out  of  register  as  we  say  in 
191 


Eben   Holden 

the  printing  business.  His  vocabulary  was 
rich  and  vivid  and  stimulating. 

"  Somebody  broke  into  the  arsenic  to-day," 
he  announced,  one  evening,  at  the  supper  table. 

"  The  arsenic,"  said  somebody,  "  what  ar- 
senic ?  " 

"  Why  the  place  where  they  keep  the  pow- 
der," he  answered. 

"Oh!  the  arsenal." 

"  Yes,  the  arsenal,"  he  said,  cackling  with 
laughter  at  his  error.     Then  he  grew  serious. 

"  Stole  all  the  ambition  out  of  it,"  he  added. 

"  You  mean  ammunition,  don't  you,  Solo- 
mon? "  his  wife  inquired. 

"  Certainly,"  said  he,  "  wasn't  that  what  I 
said." 

When  he  had  said  a  thing  that  met  his  own 
approval  Sol  Rollin  would  cackle  most  cheer- 
fully and  then  crack  a  knuckle  by  twisting  a 
finger.  His  laugh  was  mostly  out  of  register 
also.  It  had  a  sad  lack  of  relevancy.  He 
laughed  on  principle  rather  than  provocation. 
Some  sort  of  secret  comedy  of  which  the  world 
knew  nothing,  was  passing  in  his  mind ;  it 
seemed  to  have  its  exits  and  its  entrances,  its 
villain,  its  clown  and  its  miser  who  got  all  the 
applause. 

While  working  his  joy  was  unconfined. 
Many  a  time  I  have  sat  and  watched  him  in  his 
192 


Eben   Holden 

little  shop,  its  window  dim  with  cob-webs. 
Sometimes  he  would  stop  whistling  and  cackle 
heartily  as  he  worked  his  plane  or  drew  his  pen- 
cil to  the  square.  I  have  even  seen  him  drop 
his  tools  and  give  his  undivided  attention  to 
laughter.  He  did  not  like  to  be  interrupted — 
he  loved  his  own  company  the  best  while  he  was 
"  doin'  business."  I  went  one  day  when  he 
was  singing  the  two  lines  and  their  quaint 
chorus  which  was  all  he  ever  sang  in  my  hear- 
ing; which  gave  him  great  relief,  I  have 
no  doubt,  when  lip  weary  with  whistling: 


^^c 


BEE33E3=?T"Ei337?a5? 


=4d 


& 


£     f>      ,        I^^TT1^ 


Sez  I"Dan'I  Skinner,!  think  yer  mighty  mean  To 


sendmeup  the  river,  With  a    sev'u  dollar  team.' 

± _  ^rn>r-* 


Lul-  ly,ul-ly, diddle  ui- ly, diddle  ul-ly dee, Oh, 


V V k1 — ^ — i 1 N-J— i 1 Fs^LI 

lul-ly,    ul  -  ly, diddle  ul  -  Iy,dicidle    ul  -  ly  dee. 

"Mr.  Rollin!"  I  said. 
'  Yes  siree,"  said  he,  pausing  in  the  midst 
of  his  chorus  to  look  up  at  me. 
193 


Eben   Holden 

"  Where  can  I  get  a  piece  of  yellow  pine  ?  " 

"  See  'n  a  minute,"  he  said.  Then  he  con- 
tinued his  sawing  and  his  song,  "  '  Says  I 
Dan  Skinner,  I  think  yer  mighty  mean  ' — what 
d'  ye  want  it  fer?  "  he  asked  stopping  abruptly. 

"  Going  to  make  a  ruler,"  I  answered. 

"  'T'  sen'  me  up  the  river  with  a  seven  dollar 
team,'  "  he  went  on,  picking  out  a  piece  of 
smooth  planed  lumber,  and  handing  it  to  me. 

"  How  much  is  it  worth?  "  I  inquired. 

He  whistled  a  moment  as  he  surveyed  it  care- 
fully. 

"  'Bout  one  cent,"  he  answered  seriously. 

I  handed  him  the  money  and  sat  down  awhile 
to  watch  him  as  he  went  on  with  his  work.  It 
was  the  cheapest  amusement  I  have  yet  en- 
joyed. Indeed  Sol  Rollin  became  a  dissipa- 
tion, a  subtle  and  seductive  habit  that  grew  upon 
me  and  on  one  pretext  or  another  I  went  every 
Saturday  to  the  shop  if  I  had  not  gone  home. 

"What  ye  goin'  f  be?" 

He  stopped  his  saw,  and  looked  at  me,  wait- 
ing for  my  answer. 

At  last  the  time  had  come  when  I  must  de- 
clare myself  and  I  did. 

"  A  journalist,"  I  replied. 

"  What's  that  ?  "  he  inquired  curiously. 

"  An  editor,"  I  said. 

194 


Eben  Holden 

"  A  printer  man  ?  " 

"  A  printer  man." 

"  Huh!  "  said  he,  "  Mebbe  I'll  give  ye  a  job. 
Sairey  tol'  me  I'd  orter  t'  'ave  some  cards 
printed.  I'll  want  good  plain  print :  Solomon 
Rollin,  Carpenter  'n  J'iner,  Hillsborough, 
N.  Y. — soun's  purty  good  don't  it." 

"  Beautiful,"  I  answered. 

"  I'll  git  a  big  lot  on  'em,"  he  said.  "  I'll 
want  one  for  Sister  Susan  'at's  out  in  Minne- 
soty — no,  I  guess  I'll  send  'er  tew,  so  she  can 
give  one  away — an'  one  fer  my  brother,  Eliph- 
alet,  an'  one  apiece  fer  my  three  cousins  over  'n 
Vermont,  an'  one  fer  my  Aunt  Mirandy.  Le's 
see — tew  an'  one  is  three  an'  three  is  six  an' 
one  is  seven.  Then  I'll  git  a  few  struck  off" 
fer  the  folks  here — guess  they'll  think  I'm  git- 
tin'  up  'n  the  world." 

He  shook  and  snickered  with  anticipation  of 
the  glory  of  it.  Pure  vanity  inspired  him  in 
the  matter  and  it  had  in  it  no  vulgar  consid- 
eration of  business  policy.  He  whistled  a  lively 
tune  as  he  bent  to  his  work  again. 

"  Yer  sister  says  ye're  a  splendid  scholar," 
said  he.  "  Hear'n  'er  braggin'  'bout  ye  'tother 
night;  she  thinks  a  good  deal  o'  her  brother,  I 
can  tell  ye.  Guess  I  know  what  she's  goin' 
t'  give  ye  Crissmus." 

T9S 


Eben  Holden 

"What's  that?"  I  asked,  with  a  curiosity 
more  youthful  than  becoming. 

"  Don't  ye  never  let  on,"  said  he. 

"  Never,"  said  I. 

"  Hear'n  'em  tell,"  he  said,  "'twas  a  gol' 
lockup,  with  'er  pictur'  in  it." 

"Oh,  a  locket!"  I  exclaimed. 

"  That's  it."  he  replied,"  an'  pure  gol',  too." 

I  turned  to  go. 

"  Hope  she'll  grow  up  a  savin'  woman,"  he 
remarked.  '  'Fraid  she  won't  never  be  very 
good  t'  work." 

"  Why  not?  "  I  inquired. 

"  Han's  are  too  little  an'  white,"  he  an- 
swered. 

"  She  won't  have  to,"  I  said. 

He  cackled  uproariously  for  a  moment,  then 
grew  serious. 

"  Her  father's  rich,"  he  said,  "  the  richest 
man  o'  Faraway,  an  I  guess  she  won't  never 
hev  anything  t'  dew  but  set'n  sing  an'  play  the 
melodium." 

"  She  can  do  as  she  likes,"  I  said. 

He  stood  a  moment  looking  down  as  if  medi- 
tating on  the  delights  he  had  pictured. 

"  Gol !  "  he  exclaimed  suddenly. 

My  subject  had  begun  to  study  me,  and  I 
came  away  to  escape  further  examination. 
196 


/ 


CHAPTER  XVIII 


I  ought  to  say  that  I  have  had  and  shall 
have  to  chronicle  herein  much  that  would  seem 
to  indicate  a  mighty  conceit  of  myself.  Un- 
fortunately the  little  word  "  I  "  throws  a  big 
shadow  in  this  history.  It  looms  up  all  too 
frequently  in  every  page  for  the  sign  of  a  mod- 
est man.  But,  indeed,  /  cannot  help  it,  for  he 
was  the  only  observer  of  all  there  is  to  tell. 
Now  there  is  much,  for  example,  in  the  very 
marrow  of  my  history — things  that  never  would 
have  happened,  things  that  never  would 
have  been  said,  but  for  my  fame  as  a  scholar. 
My  learning  was  of  small  account,  for,  it  must 
be  remembered,  I  am  writing  of  a  time  when 
any  degree  of  scholarship  was  counted  re- 
markable among  the  simple  folk  of  Faraway. 

Hope  took  singing  lessons  and  sang  in 
church  every  Sunday.  David  or  Uncle  Eb 
came  down  for  us  often  of  a  Saturday  and 
brought  us  back  before  service  in  the  morning. 
One  may  find  in  that  town  to-day  many  who 
will  love  to  tell  him  of  the  voice  and  beauty  and 
sweetness  of  Hope  Brower  those  days,  and  of 
197 


Eben  Holden 

what  they  expected  regarding  her  and  me.  We 
went  out  a  good  deal  evenings  to  concerts,  lec- 
tures at  the  churches  or  the  college,  or  to  visit 
some  of  the  many  people  who  invited  us  to  their 
homes. 

We  had  a  recess  of  two  weeks  at  the  winter 
holidays  and  David  Brower  came  after  us  the 
day  the  term  ended.  O,  the  great  happiness 
of  that  day  before  Christmas  when  we  came 
flying  home  in  the  sleigh  behind  a  new  team  of 
greys  and  felt  the  intoxication  of  the  frosty 
air,  and  drove  in  at  dusk  after  the  lamps  were 
lit  and  we  could  see  mother  and  Uncle  Eb  and 
Grandma  Bisnette  looking  out  of  the  window, 
and  a  steaming  dinner  on  the  table !  I  declare ! 
it  is  long  since  then,  but  I  cannot  ever  think  of 
that  time  without  wiping  my  glasses  and  tak- 
ing a  moment  off.  Tip  Taylor  took  the  horses 
and  we  all  came  in  where  the  kettle  was  singing 
on  the  stove  and  loving  hands  helped  us  out  of 
our  wraps.  The  supper  was  a  merry  feast,  the 
like  of  which  one  may  find  only  by  returning 
to  his  boyhood.  Alack!  that  is  a  long  jour- 
ney for  some  of  us. 

Supper  over  and  the  dishes  out  of  the  way  we 
gathered  about  the  stove  with  cider  and  but- 
ternuts. 


198 


Eben  Holden 

"  Well,"  said  Hope,  "  I've  got  some  news  to 
tell  you — this  boy  is  the  best  scholar  of  his  age 
in  this  county." 

"Thet  so?"  said  David. 

Uncle  Eb  stopped  his  hammer  that  was  lifted 
to  crack  a  butternut  and  pulled  his  chair  close 
to  Hope's.  Elizabeth  looked  at  her  daughter 
and  then  at  me,  a  smile  and  a  protest  in 
her  face. 

"  True  as  you  live,"  said  Hope.  "  The  mas- 
ter told  me  so.  He's  first  in  everything,  and 
in  the  Town  Hall  the  other  night  he  spelt 
everybody  down." 

"What!  In  Hillsborough?"  Uncle  Eb 
asked  incredulously. 

"  Yes,  in  Hillsborough,"  said  Hope,  "  and 
there  were  doctors  and  lawyers  and  college 
students  and  I  don't  know  who  all  in  the 
match." 

"  Most  remarkable !  "  said  David  Broweir. 

"  TVmnenjious!  "  exclaimed  Uncle  Eb. 

"  I  heard  about  it  over  at  the  mills  t'-day," 
said  Tip  Taylor. 

"  Merci  Dieu !  "  exclaimed  Grandma  Bis- 
nette,  crossing  herself. 

Elizabeth  Brower  was  unable  to  stem  this 
tide  of  enthusiasm.     I  had  tried  to  stop  it,  but, 


199 


Eben  Holden 

instantly,  it  had  gone  beyond  my  control.  If  I 
could  be  hurt  by  praise  the  mischief  had  been 
done. 

"  It's  very  nice,  indeed,"  said  she  soberly.  "I 
do  hope  it  won't  make  him  conceited.  He 
should  remember  that  people  do  not  always 
mean  what  they  say." 

"•  He's  too  sensible  for  that,  mother,"  said 
David. 

"  Shucks !  "  said  Uncle  Eb,  "  he  ain'  no  fool 
if  he  is  a  good  speller — not  by  a  dum  sight!  " 

"  Tip,"  said  David,  "  you'll  find  a  box  in  the 
sleigh  'at  come  by  express.  I  wish  ye'd  go'n 
git  it." 

We  all  stood  looking  while  Tip  brought  it 
in  and  pried  off  the  top  boards  with  a  hatchet. 

"Careful,  now!"  Uncle  Eb  cautioned  him. 
"  Might  spile  sumthin'." 

The  top  off,  Uncle  Eb  removed  a  layer  of 
pasteboard.  Then  he  pulled  out  a  lot  of  col- 
ored tissue  paper,  and  under  that  was  a  pack- 
age, wrapped  and  tied.  Something  was  written 
on  it.  He  held  it  up  and  tried  to  read  the 
writing. 

"  Can't  see  without  my  spectacles,"  he  said, 
handing  it  to  me. 

"  For  Hope,"  I  read,  as  I  passed  it  to  her. 


Eben  Holden 

"  Hooray !  "  said  Uncle  Eb,  as  he  lifted  an- 
other, and  the  last  package,  from  the  box. 

"  For  Mrs.  Brower,"  were  the  words  I  read 
upon  that  one. 

The  strings  were  cut,  the  wrappers  torn 
away,  and  two  big  rolls  of  shiny  silk  loosened 
their  coils  on  the  table.  Hope  uttered  a  cry  of 
delight.  A  murmur  of  surprise  and  admira- 
tion passed  from  one  to  another.  Elizabeth 
lifted  a  rustling  fold  and  held  it  to  the  lamp- 
light. We  passed  our  hands  over  the  smooth 
sheen  of  the  silk. 

"Wall,  I  swan!"  said  Uncle  Eb.  "  Jes' 
like  a  kitten's  ear !  " 

"  Eggzac'ly !  "  said  David  Brower. 

Elizabeth  lifted  the  silk  and  let  it  flow  to  her 
feet.  Then  for  a  little  she  looked  down,  drap- 
ing it  to  her  skirt  and  moving  her  foot  to  make 
the  silk  rustle.  For  the  moment  she  was 
young  again. 

"  David,"  she  said,  still  looking  at  the  glory 
of  glossy  black  that  covered  her  plain  dress. 

"  Well,  mother,"  he  answered. 

"  Was  you  fool  enough  t'  go'n  buy  this  stuff 
fer  me?  " 

"  No,  mother — it  come  from  New  York 
City,"  he  said. 


Eben  Holden 

"  From  New  York  City?  "  was  the  exclama- 
tion of  all. 

Elizabeth  Brower  looked  thoughtfully  at  her 
husband. 

"Clear  from  New  York  City?"  she  re- 
peated. 

"  From  New  York  City,"  said  he. 

"  Wall,  of  all  things !  "  said  Uncle  Eb,  look- 
ing over  his  spectacles  from  one  to  another. 

"  It's  from  that  Livingstone  boy,"  said  Mrs. 
Brower.  "  I've  heard  he's  the  son  of  a  rich 
man." 

"  'Fraid  he  took  a  great  fancy  t'  Hope,"  said 
David. 

"  Father,"  said  the  girl,  "  you've  no  right  to 
say  that.  I'm  sure  he  never  cared  a  straw  for 
me." 

"  I  don't  think  we  ought  to  keep  it,"  said 
Mrs.  Brower,  looking  up  thoughtfully. 

"  Shucks  and  shavin's !  "  said  Uncle  Eb. 
"  Ye  don'  know  but  what  I  had  it  sent  myself." 

Hope  went  over  and  put  her  arms  around  his 
neck. 

"  Did  you,  Uncle  Eb?  "  she  asked.  "  Now 
you  tell  me  the  truth,  Uncle  Eb." 

"  Wouldn't  say  't  I  did,"  he  answered,  "  but 
I  don'  want  'a  see  ye  go  sendin'  uv  it  back.  Ye 
dunno  who  sent  it." 

202 


Eben  Holden 

"  What'll  I  do  with  it?  "  Mrs.  Brower  asked, 
laughing  in  a  way  that  showed  a  sense  of  ab- 
surdity. "  I'd  a  been  tickled  with  it  thirty 
years  ago,  but  now — folks  'ud  think  I  was 
crazy." 

"  Never  heard  such  fol  de  rol,"  said  Uncle 
Eb.  "  If  ye  move  t'  the  village  it'll  come 
handy  t'  go  t'  meetin'  in." 

That  seemed  to  be  unanswerable  and  con- 
clusive, at  least  for  the  time  being,  and  the  silk 
was  laid  away.  We  sat  talking  until  late  bed- 
time, Hope  and  I  telling  of  our  studies  and 
of  the  many  people  we  had  met  in  Hillsbor- 
ough. 

We  hung  up  our  stockings  just  as  we  had 
always  done  Christmas  eve,  and  were  up  be- 
times in  the  morning  to  find  them  filled  with 
many  simple  but  delightful  things,  and  one 
which  I  treasure  to  this  day — the  locket  and  its 
picture  of  which  I  had  been  surreptitiously  in- 
formed. 

At  two  o'clock  we  had  a  fine  dinner  of  roast 
turkey  and  chicken  pie,  with  plenty  of  good 
cider,  and  the  mince  pie,  of  blessed  memory, 
such  as  only  a  daughter  of  New  England  may 
dare  try  to  make. 

Uncle  Eb  went  up  stairs  after  dinner  and 
presently  we  heard  him  descending  with  a  slow 
203 


Eben  Holden 

and  heavy  foot.  I  opened  the  stair  door  and 
there  he  stood  with  the  old  bass  viol  that  had 
long  lain  neglected  in  a  dusty  corner  of  the 
attic.  Many  a  night  I  had  heard  it  groan  as 
the  strings  loosened,  in  the  years  it  had  lain 
on  its  back,  helpless  and  forgotten.  It  was 
like  a  dreamer,  snoring  in  his  sleep,  and  mur- 
muring of  that  he  saw  in  his  dreams.  Uncle 
Eb  had  dusted  and  strung  it  and  glued  its 
weaker  joints.  He  sat  down  with  it,  the  severe 
look  of  old  upon  his  face,  and  set  the  strings 
roaring  as  he  tuned  them.  Then  he  brought 
the  sacred  treasure  to  me  and  leaned  it  against 
my  shoulder. 

"  There  that's  a  Crissmus  present  fer  ye, 
Willie,"  said  he.  "  It  may  help  ye  t'  pass  away 
the  time  once  in  a  while." 

I   thanked  him   warmly. 

"  'S  a  reel  firs'-class  instrument,"  he  said. 
"  Been  a  rip  snorter  'n  its  day." 

He  took  from  his  bosom  then  the  old  heart 
pin  of  silver  that  he  had  always  worn  of  a 
Sunday. 

"  Goin'  t'  give  ye  thet,  too,"  he  said. 
"  Dunno's  ye'll  ever  care  to  wear  it,  but  I  want 
ye  should  hev  sumthin'  ye  can  carry'n  yer 
pocket  t'  remember  me  by." 

I  did  not  dare  trust  myself  to  speak,  and  I 
204 


Eben  Holden 

sat  helplessly  turning  that  relic  of  a  better  day 
in  my  fingers. 

"  It's  genuwine  silver,"  said  he  proudly. 

I  took  his  old  hand  in  mine  and  raised  it  rev- 
erently to  my  lips. 

"  Hear'n  'em  tell  'bout  goin'  t'  the  village, 
an'  I  says  t'  myself  '  Uncle  Eb,'  says  I,  '  we'll 
hev  t'  be  goin'.  'Tain'  no  place  fer  you  in  the 
village.'  " 

"Holden,"  said  David  Brower, "  don't  ye 
never  talk  like  that  ag'in.  Yer  just  the  same  as 
married  t'  this  family,  an'  ye  can't  ever  git 
away  from  us." 

And  he  never  did  until  his  help  was  needed 
in  other  and  fairer  fields,  I  am  sure,  than  those 
of  Faraway — God  knows  where. 


205 


CHAPTER  XIX 

Tip  Taylor  was,  in  the  main,  a  serious 
minded  man.  A  cross  eye  enhanced  the  nat- 
ural solemnity  of  his  countenance.  He  was 
little  given  to  talk  or  laughter  unless  he  were 
on  a  hunt,  and  then  he  only  whispered  his  joy. 
He  had  seen  a  good  bit  of  the  world  through 
the  peek  sight  of  his  rifle,  and  there  was  some- 
thing always  in  the  feel  of  a  gun  that  lifted 
him  to  higher  moods.  And  yet  one  could 
reach  a  tender  spot  in  him  without  the  aid  of  a 
gun.  That  winter  vacation  I  set  myself  to 
study  things  for  declamation — specimens  of  the 
eloquence  of  Daniel  Webster  and  Henry  Clay 
and  James  Otis  and  Patrick  Henry.  I  prac- 
ticed them  in  the  barn,  often,  in  sight  and  hear- 
ing of  the  assembled  herd  and  some  of  those 
fiery  passages  were  rather  too  loud  and  threat- 
ening for  the  peace  and  comfort  of  my  audi- 
ence. The  oxen  seemed  always  to  be  expect- 
ing the  sting  of  the  bull  whip  ;  they  stared  at 
me  timidly,  tilting  their  ears  every  moment,  as 
if  to  empty  them  of  a  heavy  load  ;  while  the 
horses  snorted  with  apprehension.  This  har- 
206 


Eben  Holden 

anguing  of  the  herd  had  been  going  on  a  week 
or  more  when  Uncle  Eb  and  I,  returning  from  a 
distant  part  of  the  farm,  heard  a  great  uproar 
in  the  stable.  Looking  in  at  a  window  we  saw 
Tip  Taylor,  his  back  toward  us,  extemporizing 
a  speech.  He  was  pressing  his  argument  with 
gestures  and  the  tone  of  thunder.  We  listened 
a  moment,  while  a  worried  look  came  over  the 
face  of  Uncle  Eb.  Tip's  words  were  mean- 
ingless save  for  the  secret  aspiration  they 
served  to  advertise.  My  old  companion 
thought  Tip  had  gone  crazy,  and  immediately 
swung  the  door  and  stepped  in.  The  orator 
fell  suddenly  from  his  lofty  altitude  and  be- 
came a  very  sober  looking  hired  man. 

"  What's  the  matter?  "  Uncle  Eb  inquired. 

"  Practicin',''  said  Tip  soberly,  as  he  turned 
slowly,  his  face  damp  and  red  with  exertion. 

"  Fer  what?  "  Uncle  Eb  inquired. 

"  Fer  the  'sylum,  I  guess,"  he  answered,  with 
a  faint  smile. 

"  Ye  don'  need  no  more  practice,"  Uncle  Eb 
answered.  "  Looks  t'  me  as  though  ye  was 
purty  well  prepared." 

To  me  there  was  a  touch  of  pathos  in  this 

show   of  the  deeper  things  in  Tip's  nature  that 

had  been  kindled  to  eruption  by  my  spouting. 

He  would  not  come  in  to  dinner  that  day,  prob- 

207 


Eben  Holden 

ably  from  an  unfounded  fear  that  we  would 
make  fun  of  his  flight — a  thing  we  should  have 
been  far  from  doing  once  we  understood  him. 

It  was  a  bitter  day  of  one  of  the  coldest  win- 
ters we  had  ever  known.  A  shrieking  wind 
came  over  the  hills,  driving  a  scud  of  snow  be- 
fore it.  The  stock  in  the  stables,  we  all  came 
in,  soon  after  dinner,  and  sat  comfortably  by 
the  fire  with  cider,  checkers  and  old  sledge.  The 
dismal  roar  of  the  trees  and  the  wind-wail  in  the 
chimney  served  only  to  increase  our  pleasure. 
It  was  growing  dusk  when  mother,  peering 
through  the  sheath  of  frost  on  a  window  pane, 
uttered  an  exclamation  of  surprise. 

"  Why!  who  is  this  at  the  door?  "  said  she. 
"Why!     It's  a  man  in  a  cutter." 

Father  was  near  the  door  and  he  swung  it 
open  quickly. 

There  stood  a  horse  and  cutter,  a  man  sit- 
ting in  it,  heavily  muffled.  The  horse  was 
shivering  and  the  man  sat  motionless. 

"Hello!"  said  David  Brower  in  a  loud 
voice. 

He  got  no  answer  and  ran  bareheaded  to  the 
sleigh. 

"  Come,  quick,  Holden,"  he  called,  "  it's 
Doctor   Bigsby." 


208 


Eben   Holden 

We  all  ran  out  then,  while  David  lifted  the 
still  figure  in  his  arms. 

"In  here,  quick!"  said  Elizabeth,  opening 
the  door  to  the  parlor.  "  Musn't  take  'im  near 
the  stove." 

We  carried  him  into  the  cold  room  and  laid 
him  down,  and  David  and  I  tore  his  wraps  open 
while  the  others  ran  quickly  after  snow. 

I  rubbed  it  vigorously  upon  his  face  and  ears, 
the  others  meantime  applying  it  to  his  feet  and 
arms,  that  had  been  quickly  stripped.  The 
doctor  stared  at  us  curiously  and  tried  to  speak. 

"  Get  ap,  Dobbin!  "  he  called  presently,  and 
clucked  as  if  urging  his  horse.  "  Get  ap,  Dob- 
bin!    Man'll  die  'fore  ever  we  git  there." 

We  all  worked  upon  him  with  might  and 
main.  The  white  went  slowly  out  of  his  face. 
We  lifted  him  to  a  sitting  posture.  Mother  and 
Hope  and  Uncle  Eb  were  rubbing  his  hands 
and  feet. 

"  Where  am  I  ?  "  he  inquired,  his  face  now 
badly  swollen. 

"  At  David  Brower's,"  said  I. 

"  Huh  ?  "  he  asked,  with  that  kindly  and  fa- 
miliar grunt  of  interrogation. 

"  At  David  Brower's,"  I  repeated. 

"  Well,  I'll  have  t'  hurry,"  said  he,  trying 


209 


Eben  Holden 

feebly  to  rise.     "  Man's  dyin'  over "  he 

hesitated  thoughtfully,  "on  the  Plains,"  he 
added,  looking  around  at  us. 

Grandma  Bisnette  brought  a  lamp  and  held 
it  so  the  light  fell  on  his  face.  He  looked 
from  one  to  another.  He  drew  one  of  his 
hands  away  and  stared  at  it. 

"  Somebody  froze?  "  he  asked. 

"Yes,"  said  I. 

"Hra!  Too  bad.  How'd  it  happen?"  he 
asked. 

"  I  don't  know." 

"How's  the  pulse?"  he  inquired,  feeling 
for  my  wrist. 

I  let  him  hold  it  in  his  hand. 

"  Will  you  bring  me  some  water  in  a  glass?  " 
he  inquired,  turning  to  Mrs.  Brower,  just  as  I 
had  seen  him  do  many  a  time  in  Gerald's  illness. 
Before  she  came  with  the  water  his  head  fell 
forward  upon  his  breast,  while  he  muttered 
feebly.  I  thought  then  he  was  dead,  but  pres- 
ently he  roused  himself  with  a  mighty  effort. 

"  David  Brower!  "  he  called  loudly,  and  try- 
ing hard  to  rise,  "  bring  the  horse !  bring  the 
horse !  Mus'  be  goin',  I  tell  ye.  Man's  dyin' 
over — on  the  Plains." 

He  went  limp  as  a  rag  then.  I  could  feel 
his  heart  leap  and  struggle  feebly. 


Eben   Holden 

"  There's  a  man  dyin'  here,"  said  David 
Brower,  in  a  low  tone.  "  Ye  needn't  rub  no 
more." 

"  He's  dead,"  Elizabeth  whispered,  holding 
his  hand  tenderly,  and  looking  into  his  half- 
closed  eyes.Then  for  a  moment  she  covered  her 
own  with  her  handkerchief,  while  David,  in  a 
low,  calm  tone,  that  showed  the  depth  of  his 
feeling,  told  us  what  to  do. 

Uncle  Eb  and  I  watched  that  night,  while 
Tip  Taylor  drove  away  to  town.  The  body  lay 
in  the  parlor  and  we  sat  by  the  stove  in  the  room 
adjoining.  In  a  half  whisper  we  talked  of  the 
sad  event  of  the  day. 

"  Never  oughter  gone  out  a  day  like  this," 
said  Uncle  Eb.  "  Don'  take  much  t'  freeze  an 
ol'  man." 

"  Got  to  thinking  of  what  happened  yester- 
day and  forgot  the  cold,"  I  said. 

"  Bad  day  t'  be  absent  minded,"  whispered 
Uncle  Eb,  as  he  rose  and  tiptoed  to  the  win- 
dow and  peered  through  the  frosty  panes. 
"  May*  o'  got  faint  er  sumthin'.  Ol'  hcss 
brought  'im  right  here — been  here  s'  often  with 
'im." 

He  took  the  lantern  and  went  out  a  moment. 
The  door  creaked  upon  its  frosty  hinges  when 
he  opened  it. 


Eben   Holden 

"  Thirty  below  zero,"  he  whispered  as  he 
came  in.  "  Win's  gone  down  a  leetle  bit, 
mebbe." 

Uncanny  noises  broke  in  upon  the  stillness 
of  the  old  house.  Its  timbers,  racked  in  the 
mighty  grip  of  the  cold,  creaked  and  settled. 
Sometimes  there  came  a  sharp,  breaking 
sound,  like  the  crack  of  bones. 

"  If  any  man  oughter  go  t'  Heaven,  he  had," 
said  Uncle  Eb,  as  he  drew  on  his  boots. 

"Think  he's  in  Heaven?"  I  asked. 

"  Hain't  a  doubt  uv  it,"  said  he,  as  he  chewed 
a  moment,  preparing  for  expectoration. 

"  'What  kind  of  a  place  do  you  think  it  is  ?  " 
I  asked. 

"  Fer  one  thing,"  he  said,  deliberately,  "  no- 
body'll  die  there,  'less  he'd  ought  to  ;  don't  be- 
lieve there's  goin'  t'  be  any  need  o'  swearin'  er 
quarrelin'.  To  my  way  o'  thinkin'  it'll  be  a 
good  deal  like  Dave  Brower's  farm — nice, 
smooth  land  and  no  stun  on  it,  an'  hills  an'  val- 
leys an'  white  clover  a  plenty,  an'  wheat  an' 
corn  higher'n  a  man's  head.  No  bull  thistles, 
no  hard  winters,  no  narrer  contracted  fools; 
no  long  faces,  an'  plenty  o'  work.  Folks  sayin' 
'  How  d'y  do  '  'stid  o'  '  good-by,'  all  the  while 
— comin'  'stid  o'  goin'.  There's  goin'  t'  be  some 
kind  o'  fun  there.     I  ain'  no  idee  what  'tis. 

212 


Eben   Holden 

Folks  like  it  an'  I  kind  o'  believe  'at  when  God's 
gin  a  thing  t'  everybody  he  thinks  purty  mid- 
dlin'  well  uv  it." 

"  Anyhow,  it  seems  a  hard  thing  to  die,"  I 
remarked. 

"  Seems  so,"  he  said  thoughtfully.  "  Jes' 
like  ever'thing  else — them  'at  knows  much 
about  it  don'  have  a  great  deal  t'  say.  Looks 
t'  me  like  this :  I  cal'ate  a  man  lies  on  the  ever- 
idge  ten  things  his  heart  is  sot  on — what  is  the 
word  I  want  — ?  " 

"  Treasures?  "  I  suggested. 

"  Thet's  it,"  said  he.  "  Ev'ry  one  hes  about 
ten  treasures.  Some  hev  more — some  less. 
Say  one's  his  strength,  one's  his  plan,  the  rest 
is  them  he  loves,  an'  the  more  he  loves  the  bet- 
ter 'tis  fer  him.  Wall,  they  begin  t'  go  one  by 
one.  Some  die,  some  turn  agin'  him.  Fin's 
it  hard  t'  keep  his  allowance.  When  he's  only 
nine  he's  lost  eggzac'ly  one-tenth  uv  his  dread 
o'  dyin'.  Bime  bye  he  counts  up — one-two- 
three-four-five — an'  thet's  all  ther  is  left.  He 
Aggers  it  up  careful.  His  strength  is  gone,  his 
plan's  a  failure,  mebbe,  an'  this  one's  dead  an' 
thet  one's  dead,  an'  t'other  one  better  be.  Then 
's  'bout  half  ways  with  him.  If  he  lives  'till  the 
ten  treasures  is  all  gone,  God  gives  him  one 
more — thet's  death.  An'  he  can  swop  thet  off 
213 


Eben  Holden 

an'  git  back  all  he's  lost.  Then  he  begins  t' 
think  it's  a  purty  dum  good  thing,  after  all. 
Purty  good  thing,  after  all,"  he  repeated,  gap- 
ing as  he  spoke. 

He  began  nodding  shortly,  and  soon  he  went 
asleep  in  his  chair. 


214 


CHAPTER  XX 

We  went  back  to  our  work  again  shortly, 
the  sweetness  and  the  bitterness  of  life  fresh  in 
our  remembrance.  When  we  came  back,  "  hook 
an'  line,"  for  another  vacation,  the  fields  were 
aglow  with  color,  and  the  roads  where  Dr. 
Bigsby  had  felt  the  sting  of  death  that  winter 
day  were  now  over  drifted  with  meadow- 
music  and  the  smell  of  clover.  I  had  cred- 
itably taken  examination  for  college,  where 
I  was  to  begin  my  course  in  the  fall,  with  a 
scholarship.  Hope  had  made  remarkable  pro- 
gress in  music  and  was  soon  going  to  Ogdens- 
burg  for  instruction. 

A  year  had  gone,  nearly,  since  Jed  Feary  had 
cautioned  me  about  falling  in  love.  I  had  kept 
enough  of  my  heart  about  me  "to  do  business 
with,"  but  I  had  continued  to  feel  an  uncom- 
fortable absence  in  the  region  of  it.  Young 
men  at  Hillsborough — many  of  whom,  I  felt 
sure,  had  a  smarter  look  than  I — had  bid  stub- 
bornly for  her  favor.  I  wondered,  often,  it  did 
not  turn  her  head — this  tribute  of  rustic  admi- 
ration. But  she  seemed  to  be  all  unconscious 
215 


Eben  Holden 

of  its  cause  and  went  about  her  work  with 
small  conceit  of  herself.  Many  a  time  they 
had  tried  to  take  her  from  my  arm  at  the 
church  door — a  good-natured  phase  of  youth- 
ful rivalry  there  in  those  days — but  she  had 
always  said,  laughingly,  "  No,  thank  you,"  and 
clung  all  the  closer  to  me.  Now  Jed  Feary 
had  no  knowledge  of  the  worry  it  gave 
me,  or  of  the  peril  it  suggested.  I  knew  that, 
if  I  felt  free  to  tell  him  all,  he  would  give  me 
other  counsel.  I  was  now  seventeen  and  she  a 
bit  older,  and  had  I  not  heard  of  many  young 
men  and  women  who  had  been  engaged — aye, 
even  married — at  that  age?  Well,  as  it  hap- 
pened, a  day  before  she  left  us,  to  go  to  her 
work  in  Ogdensburg,  where  she  was  to  live 
with  her  uncle,  I  made  an  end  of  delay.  I 
considered  carefully  what  a  man  ought  to  say., 
in  the  circumstances,  and  I  thought  I  had  near 
an  accurate  notion.  We  were  in  the  garden — 
together — the  playground  of  our  childhood. 

"  Hope,  I  have  a  secret  to  tell  you,"  I  said. 

"  A  secret,"  she  exclaimed  eagerly.   "  I  love 
secrets." 

"  A  great  secret,"  I  repeated,  as  I  felt  my 
face  burning. 

"  Why — it  must  be  something  awful !  " 

"  Not  very,"  I  stammered.     Having  missed 
216 


Eben  Holden 

my  cue  from  the  beginning,  I  was  now  utterly 
confused. 

"  William !  "  she  exclaimed,  "  what  is  the 
matter  of  you.'' 

"  I — I  am  in  love,"  said  I,  very  awkwardly. 

"  Is  that  all?  "  she  answered,  a  trace  of  hu- 
mor in  her  tone.   "  I  thought  it  was  bad  news." 

I  stooped  to  pick  a  rose  and  handed  it  to  her. 

"  Well,"  she  remarked  soberly,  but  smiling  a 
little,  as  she  lifted  the  rose  to  her  lips,  "  is  it 
anyone  I  know." 

I  felt  it  was  going  badly  with  me,  but  caught 
a  sudden  inspiration. 

"  You  have  never  seen  her,"  I  said. 

If  she  had  suspected  the  truth  I  had  turned 
the  tables  on  her,  and  now  she  was  guessing. 
A  quick  change  came  into  her  face,  and,  for  a 
moment,  it  gave  me  confidence. 

"Is  she  pretty?"  she  asked  very  seriously 
as  she  dropped  the  flower  and  looked  down 
crushing  it  beneath  her  foot. 

"  She  is  very  beautiful — it  is  you  I  love, 
Hope." 

A  flood  of  color  came  into  her  cheeks  then, 
as  she  stood  a  moment  looking  down  at  the 
flower  in  silence. 

"  I  shall  keep  }'Our  secret,"  she  said  tenderly, 
and  hesitating  as  she  spoke,  "  and  when  you  are 
217 


Eben   Holden 

through  college — and  you  are  older — and  I  am 
older — and  you  love  me  as  you  do  now — I 
hope — I  shall  love  you,  too — as — I  do  now." 

Her  lips  were  trembling  as  she  gave  me  that 
sweet  assurance — dearer  to  me — fardearerthan 
all  else  I  remember  of  that  golden  time — and 
tears  were  coursing  down  her  cheeks.  For  my- 
self I  was  in  a  worse  plight  of  emotion.  I  dare- 
say she  remembered  also  the  look  of  my  face 
in  that  moment. 

"  Do  not  speak  of  it  again,"  she  said,  as  we 
walked  away  together  on  the  shorn  sod  of  the 
orchard  meadow,  now  sown  with  apple  blos- 
soms, "  until  we  are  older,  and,  if  you  never 
speak  again,  I  shall  know  you — you  do  not  love 
me  any  longer." 

The  dinner  horn  sounded.  We  turned  and 
walked  slowly  back. 

"Do  I  look  all  right?"  she  asked,  turning 
her  face  to  me  and  smiling  sweetly. 

"  All  right,"  I  said.  "  Nobody  would  know 
that  anyone  loved  you — except  for  your 
beauty  and  that  one  tear  track  on  your  cheek." 

She  wiped  it  away  as  she  laughed. 

"  Mother  knows  anyway,"  she  said,  "  and 
she  has  given  me  good  advice.  Wait!"  she 
added,  stopping  and  turning  to  me.  "  Your 
eyes  are  wet !  " 

218 


Eben  Holden 

I  felt  for  my  handkerchief. 

"  Take  mine,"  she  said. 

Elder  Whitmarsh  was  at  the  house  and  they 
were  all  sitting  down  to  dinner  as  we  came  in. 

"  Hello !  "  said  Uncle  Eb.  "  Here's  a  good 
lookin'  couple.  We've  got  a  chicken  pie  an'  a 
Baptis'  minister  fer  dinner  an'  both  good. 
Take  yer  pew  nex'  t'  the  minister,"  he  added 
as  he  held  the  chair  for  me. 

Then  we  all  bowed  our  heads  and  I  felt  a 
hearty  amen  for  the  elder's  words  : 

"  O  Lord,  may  all  our  doing  and  saying  and 
eating  and  drinking  of  this  day  be  done,  as  in 
Thy  sight,  for  our  eternal  happiness — and  for 
Thy  glory.     Amen." 


219 


CHAPTER  XXI 

We  have  our  secrets,  but,  guard  them  as  we 
may,  it  is  not  long  before  others  have  them 
also.  We  do  much  talking  without  words.  I 
once  knew  a  man  who  did  his  drinking  secretly 
and  his  reeling  in  public,  and  thought  he  was 
fooling  everybody.  That  shows  how  much 
easier  it  is  for  one  to  fool  himself  than  to  fool 
another.  What  is  in  a  man's  heart  is  on  his 
face,  and  is  shortly  written  all  over  him. 
Therein  is  a  mighty  lesson. 

Of  all  people  I  ever  knew  Elizabeth  Brower 
had  the  surest  eye  for  looking  into  one's  soul, 
and  I,  myself,  have  some  gift  of  penetration. 
I  knew  shortly  that  Mrs.  Brower — wise  and 
prudent  woman  that  she  was — had  suspected 
my  love  for  Hope  and  her  love  for  me,  and  had 
told  her  what  she  ought  to  say  if  I  spoke  of  it. 

The  maturity  of  judgment  in  Hope's  answer 
must  have  been  the  result  of  much  thought  and 
counsel,  it  seemed  to  me. 

"  If  you  do  not  speak  again  I  shall  know 
you  do  not  love  me  any  longer,"  she  had  said. 
They  were  brave  words  that  stood  for  some- 


Eben   Holden 

thing  very  deep  in  the  character  of  those  people 
— a  self-repression  that  was  sublime,  often,  in 
their  women.  As  I  said  them  to  myself,  those 
lonely  summer  days  in  Faraway,  I  saw  in  their 
sweet  significance  no  hint  of  the  bitterness  they 
were  to  bring.  But  God  knows  I  have  had  my 
share  of  pleasure  and  no  more  bitterness  than 
I  deserved. 

It  was  a  lonely  summer  for  me.  I  had  let- 
ters from  Hope — ten  of  them — which  I  still 
keep  and  read,  often  with  something  of  the  old 
pleasure — girlish  letters  that  told  of  her  work 
and  friends,  and  gave  me  some  sweet  counsel 
and  much  assurance  between  the  lines. 

I  traveled  in  new  roads  that  vacation  time. 
Politics  and  religion,  as  well  as  love,  began  to 
interest  me.  Slavery  was  looming  into  the 
proportion  of  a  great  issue,  and  the  stories  of 
cruelty  and  outrage  on  the  plantations  of  the 
South  stirred  my  young  blood  and  made  it 
ready  for  the  letting  of  battle,  in  God's  time. 
The  speeches  in  the  Senate  were  read  aloud  in 
our  sitting  room  after  supper — the  day  the 
Tribune  came — and  all  lent  a  tongue  to  their 
discussion. 

Jed  Feary  was  with  us  one  evening,  I  re- 
member, when  our  talk  turned  into  long  ways, 
the  end  of  which  I  have  never  found  to  this 


Eben   Holden 

day.  Elizabeth  had  been  reading  of  a  slave, 
who,  according  to  the  paper,  had  been  whipped 
to  death. 

"  If  God    knows    'at  such  things  are  bein' 
done,  why  don't  he  stop  'em?  "  David  asked. 

"  Can't  very  well,"  said  Jed  Feary. 

"  Can,  if  he's  omnipotent,"  said  David. 

"  That's  a  bad  word — a  dangerous  one,"  said 
the  old  poet,  dropping  his  dialect  as  he  spoke. 
"  It  makes  God  responsible  for  evil  as  well  as 
good.  The  word  carries  us  beyond  our  depth. 
It's  too  big  for  our  boots.  I'd  ruther  think 
He  can  do  what's  doable  an'  know  what's 
knowable.  In  the  beginning  he  gave  laws  to 
the  world  an'  these  laws  are  unchangeable,  or 
they  are  not  wise  an'  perfect.  If  God  were  to 
change  them  He  would  thereby  acknowledge 
their  imperfection.  By  this  law  men  and  races 
suffer  as  they  struggle  upward.  But  if  the 
law  is  unchangeable,  can  it  be  changed  for  a 
better  cause  even  than  the  relief  of  a  whipped 
slave?  In  good  time  the  law  shall  punish  and 
relieve.  The  groans  of  them  that  suffer  shall 
hasten  it,  but  there  shall  be  no  change  in  the 
law.     There  can  be  no  change  in  the  law." 

"  Leetle  hard  t'  tell  jest  how  powerful  God 
is,"  said  Uncle  Eb.     "  Good  deal  like  tryin'  t' 


Eben   Holden 

weigh  Lake  Champlain  with  a  quart  pail  and 
a  pair  o'  steelyards." 

"  If  God's  laws  are  unchangeable,  what  is 
the  use  of  praying?  "  I  asked. 

"  He  can  give  us  the  strength  to  bear,  the 
will  to  obey  him  an'  light  to  guide  us,"  said  the 
poet.  "  I've  written  out  a  few  lines  t'  read  t' 
Bill  here  'fore  he  goes  off  t'  college.  They 
have  sumthin'  t'  say  on  this  subject.  The  poem 
hints  at  things  he'd  ought  'o  learn  purty  soon — 
if  he  don't  know  'em  now." 

The  old  poet  felt  in  his  pockets  as  he  spoke, 
and  withdrew  a  folded  sheet  of  straw-colored 
wrapping  paper  and  opened  it.  I  was  "  Bill  " 
— plain  "  Bill  " — to  everybody  in  that  country, 
where,  as  you  increased  your  love  of  a  man,  you 
diminished  his  name.  I  had  been  called 
Willie.  William  and  Billy,  and  finally,  when  I 
threw  the  strong  man  of  the  township  in  a 
wrestling  match  they  gave  me  this  full  token 
of  confidence.  I  bent  over  the  shoulder  of  Jed 
Feary  for  a  view  of  the  manuscript,  closely 
written  with  a  lead  pencil,  and  marked  with 
many  erasures. 

"  Le's  hear  it,"  said  David  Brower. 

Then  I  moved  the  lamp  to  his  elbow  and 
he  began  reading  : 


223 


Eben  Holden 

(A  Talk  with  William  Brower  on  the  occasion  of  His  going  away 
to  College  and  writ  out  in  Rhyme  for  Him  by  his  Friend 
Jedediah  Feary  to  be  a  Token  of  Respect.) 

The  man  that  loses  faith  in  God,  ye'll  find  out  every  time, 

Has  found  a  faith  in  his  own  self  that's  mighty  nigh  sub- 
lime. 

He  knows  as  much  as  all  the  saints  an'  calls  religion 
flighty, 

An'  in  his  narrow  world  assumes  the  place  o'  God  Al- 
mighty. 

But  don't  expect  too  much  o'  God,  it  wouldn't  be  quite 

fair 
If  fer  everything  ye  wanted  ye  could  only  swap  a  prayer ; 
I  d  pray  fer  yours  an'  you  fer  mine  an'  Deacon  Henry 

Hospur 
He  wouldn't  hev  a  thing  t'  do  but  lay  a-bed  an'  prosper. 

If  all  things  come  so  easy,  Bill,  they'd  hev  but  little 

worth, 
An'  some  one  with  a  gift  o'  prayer  'ud  mebbe  own  the 

earth. 
It's  the  toil  ye  give  t'  git  a  thing, — the  sweat  an'  blood 

an'  trouble 
We  reckon  by — an'  every  tear'll  make  its  value  double. 

There's  a  money  o'  the  soul,  my  boy,  ye'll  find  in  after 

years, 
Its  pennies  are  the  sweat  drops  an'  its  dollars  are  the 

tears ; 
An'  love  is  the  redeemin'  gold  that  measures  what  they're 

worth. 
An'  ye'll  git  as  much  in  Heaven  as  ye've  given  out  on 

earth. 

Fer  the  record  o'  yer  doin' — I  believe  the  soul  is  planned 
With  an  automatic  register  t'  tell  jest  how  ye  stand, 
224 


Eben   Holden 

An'  it  won't  take  any  cipherin'  t'  show  that  fearful  day. 
If  ye've  multiplied  yer  talents  well,  er  thrown  'em  all 
away. 

When  yer  feet  are  on  the  summit,  an'  the  wide  horizon 

clears, 
An'  ye  look  back  on  yer  pathway  windin'  thro'  the  vale  o' 

tears ; 
When  ye  see  how  much  ye've  trespassed  an'   how   fur 

ye've  gone  astray, 
Ye'll  know  the  way  o'   Providence  ain't  apt  t'  be  your 

way. 

God  knows  as  much  as  can  be  known,  but  I  don't  think 

it's  true 
He  knows  of  all  the  dangers  in  the  path  o'  me  an'  you. 
If  I  shet  my  eyes  an'  hurl  a  stone  that  kills  the  King  o' 

Siam, 
The  chances  are  that  God'll  be  as  much  surprised  as  I 

am. 

If  ye  pray  with  faith  believin',  why,  ye'll  certainly  re- 
ceive, 

But  that  God  does  what's  impossible  is  more  than  I'll 
believe. 

If  it  grieves  Him  when  a  sparrow  falls,  it's  sure  as  any- 
thing, 

He'd  hev  turned  the  arrow  if  He  could,  that  broke  the 
sparrow's  wing. 

Ye  can  read  old  Nature's  history  thet's  writ  in  rocks  an' 

stones, 
Ye  can  see  her  throbbin'  vitals  an'  her  mighty  rack  o' 

bones. 
But  the  soul  o'  her — the  livin'  God,  a  little  child  may 

know 
No  lens  er  rule  o'  cipherin'  can  ever  hope  t'  show. 
225 


Eben   Holden 

There's  a  part  o'  God's  creation  very  handy  t'  yer  view, 
All  the  truth  o'  life  is  in  it  an'  remember,  Bill,  it's  you. 
An'  after  all  yer  science  ye  must  look  up  in  yer  mind, 
An'  learn  its  own  astronomy  the  star  o'  peace  t'  find. 

There's  good  old  Aunt  Samanthy  Jane  thet  all  her  jour- 
ney long 

Has  led  her  heart  to  labor  with  a  reveille  of  song. 

Her  folks  hev  robbed  an'  left  her  but  her  faith  in  good- 
ness grows. 

She  hasn't  any  larnin',  but  I  tell  ye  Bill,  site  knows ! 

She's  hed  her  share  o'  troubles ;    I  remember  well  the 

day 
We  took  her  t'  the  poorhouse — she  was  singin'  all  the 

way ; 
Ye  needn't  be  afraid  t'  come  where  stormy  Jordan  flows, 
If  all  the  larnin'  ye  can  git  has  taught  ye  half  she  knows. 

I  give  this  crude  example  of  rustic  philoso- 
phy, not  because  it  has  my  endorsement — God 
knows  I  have  ever  felt  it  far  beyond  me — but 
because  it  is  useful  to  those  who  may  care  to 
know  the  man  who  wrote  it.  I  give  it  the  poor 
fame  of  these  pages  with  keen  regret  that  my 
friend  is  now  long  passed  the  praise  or  blame 
of  this  world. 


V 


226 


CHAPTER  XXII 

The  horse  played  a  part  of  no  small  impor- 
tance in  that  country.  He  was  the  coin  of  the 
realm,  a  medium  of  exchange,  a  standard  of 
value,  an  exponent  of  moral  character.  The 
man  that  traveled  without  a  horse  was  on  his 
way  to  the  poorhouse.  Uncle  Eb  or  David 
Brower  could  tell  a  good  horse  by  the 
sound  of  his  footsteps,  and  they  brought  into 
St.  Lawrence  County  the  haughty  Morgans 
from  Vermont.  There  was  more  pride  in 
their  high  heads  than  in  any  of  the  good  peo- 
ple. A  Northern  Yankee  who  was  not  carried 
away  with  a  fine  horse  had  excellent  self-con- 
trol. Politics  and  the  steed  were  the  only 
things  that  ever  woke  him  to  enthusiasm,  and 
there  a  man  was  known  as  he  traded.  Uncle 
Eb  used  to  say  that  one  ought  always  to  under- 
estimate his  horse  "  a  leetle  fer  the  sake  of  a 
reputation." 

We  needed  another  horse  to  help  with  the 
haying,  and  Bob  Dean,  a  tricky  trader,  who 
had  heard  of  it,  drove  in  after  supper  one  even- 
227 


Eben   Holden 

ing,  and  offered  a  rangy  brown  animal  at  a  low 
figure.  We  looked  him  over,  tried  him  up  and 
down  the  road,  and  then  David,  with  some 
shrewd  suspicion,  as  I  divined  later,  said  I 
could  do  as  I  pleased.  I  bought  the  horse  and 
led  him  proudly  to  the  stable.  Next  morning 
an  Irishman,  the  extra  man  for  the  haying, 
came  in  with  a  worried  look  to  breakfast. 

"  That  new  horse  has  a  chitterin'  kind  of 
a  coff,"  he  said. 

"A  cough?"  said  I. 

"  'Tain't  jist  a  coff,  nayther,"  he  said,  "  but 
a  kind  of  toom!  " 

With  the  last  word  he  obligingly  imitated 
the  sound  of  the  cough.  It  threw  me  into  per- 
spiration. 

"  Sounds  bad,", said  Uncle  Eb,  as  he  looked 
at  me  and  snickered. 

"  'Fraid  Bill  ain't  much  of  a  jockey,"  said 
David,  smiling. 

"  Got  a  grand  appetite — that  hoss  has,"  said 
Tip  Taylor. 

After  breakfast  Uncle  Eb  and  I  hitched  him 
to  the  light  buggy  and  touched  him  up  for  a 
short  journey  down  the  road.  In  five  minutes 
he  had  begun  to  heave  and  whistle.  I  felt  sure 
one  could  have  heard  him  half  a  mile  away. 
Uncle  Eb  stopped  him  and  began  to  laugh. 
228 


Eben  Holden 

"  A  whistler,"  said  he,  "sure's  yer  born.  He 
ain't  wuth  a  bag  o'  beans.  But  don't  ye  never 
let  on.  When  ye  git  licked  ye  musn't  never 
fin'  fault.  If  anybody  asks  ye  'bout  him  tell 
'em  he's  all  ye  expected." 

We  stood  waiting  a  moment  for  the  horse  to 
recover  himself.    A  team  was  nearing  us. 

"  There's  Bob  Dean,"  Uncle  Eb  whispered. 
"  The  durn  scalawag !  Don't  ye  say  a  word 
now." 

"  Good  mornin' !  "  said  Dean,  smiling  as  he 
pulled  up  beside  us. 

"Nice  pleasant  mornin' !  "  said  Uncle  Eb,  as 
he  cast  a  glance  into  the  sky. 

"  What  ye  standin'  here  for  ?  "  Dean  asked. 

Uncle  Eb  expectorated  thoughtfully. 

"  Jest  a  lookin'  at  the  scenery,"  said  he. 
"  Purty  country,  right  here !     Ahvus  liked  it." 

"  Nice  lookin'  hoss  ye  got  there,"  said  Dean. 

"Grand  hoss  !"  said  Uncle  Eb,  surveying  him 
proudly.     "  Most  remarkable  hoss." 

"  Good  stepper,  too,"  said  Dean  soberly. 

"  Splendid !  "  said  Uncle  Eb.  "  Can  go  a 
mile  without  ketchin'  his  breath." 

"Thet  so?"  said  Dean. 

"  Good  deal  like  Lucy  Purvis,"  Uncle  Eb 
added.     "  She  can  say  the  hull  mul'plication 
table    an'  only    breathe  once.     Ye    can  learn 
229 


Eben  Holden 

sumthin'  from  a  -hoss  like  thet.  He's  good  as 
a  deestric'  school — thet  hoss  is." 

"  Yes,  sir,  thet  hoss  is  all  right,"  said  Dean, 
as  he  drove  away. 

"  Righter'n  I  expected,"  Uncle  Eb  shouted, 
and  then  he  covered  his  mouth,  shaking  with 
suppressed  laughter. 

"  Skunk!  "  he  said,  as  we  turned  the  animal 
and  started  to  walk  him  home.  "  Don't  min' 
bein'  beat,  but  I  don't  like  t'  hev  a  man  rub  it 
in  on  me.     I'll  git  even  with  him  mebbe." 

And  he  did.  It  came  about  in  this  way. 
We  turned  our  new  purchase  into  the  pasture, 
and  Uncle  Eb  and  I  drove  away  to  Potsdam 
for  a  better  nag.  We  examined  all  the  horses 
in  that  part  of  the  country.  At  last  we 
chanced  upon  one  that  looked  like  the  whistler, 
save  that  he  had  a  white  stocking  on  one  hind 
foot. 

"Same  age,  too," said  Uncle  Eb,  as  he  looked 
into  his  mouth. 

"  Can  pass  anything  on  the  road,"  said  his 
owner. 

"  Can  he  ?  "  said  Uncle  Eb,  who  had  no 
taste  for  slow  going.  "  Hitch  him  up  an'  le's 
see  what  he  can  do." 

He  carried  us  faster  than  we  had  ever  ridden 
before  at  a  trot,  and  coming  up  behind  another 
230 


Eben  Holden 

team  the  man  pulled  out,  let  the  reins  loose  on 
his  back,  and  whistled.  If  anyone  had  hit  him 
with  a  log  chain  the  horse  could  not  have  moved 
quicker.  He  took  us  by  the  other  team  like  a 
flash,  on  the  dead  run  and  three  in  the  buggy. 

"  He'll  do  all  right,"  said  Uncle  Eb,  and  paid 
for  the  horse. 

It  was  long  after  dark  when  we  started  home, 
leading  him  behind,  and  near  midnight  when 
we  arrived. 

In  the  morning  I  found  Uncle  Eb  in  the 
stable  showing  him  to  the  other  help.  To  my 
surprise  the  white  stocking  had  disappeared. 

"  Didn't  jes'  like  that  white  stockin',"  he 
said,  as  I  came  in.  "  Wondered  how  he'd 
look  without  it." 

They  all  agreed  this  horse  and  the  whistler 
were  as  much  alike  as  two  peas  in  appearance. 
Breakfast  over  Uncle  Eb  asked  the  Irishman 
to  hitch  him  up. 

"  Come  Bill,"  said  he,  "  le's  take  a  ride. 
Dean'll  be  comin'  'long  bym  bye  on  his  way  t' 
town  with  that  trotter  o'  his'n.  'Druther  like 
to  meet  him." 

I  had  only  a  faint  idea  of  his  purpose.     He 

let  the  horse  step  along  at  top  speed  going  up 

the   road   and  when   we   turned  about  he  was 

breathing  heavily.     We  jogged  him  back  down 

231 


Eben  Holden 

the  road  a  mile  or  so,  and  when  I  saw  the  blazed 
face  of  Dean's  mare,  in  the  distance,  we  pulled 
up  and  shortly  stopped  him.  Dean  came  along 
in  a  moment. 

"  Nice  mornin' !  "  said  he. 

"  Grand !  "  said  Uncle  Eb. 

"  Lookin'  at  the  lan'scape  ag'in?  " 

"  Yes;  I've  jes'  begun  t'  see  what  a  purty 
country  this  is,"  said  Uncle  Eb. 

"How's  thehoss?" 

"  Splendid !  Gives  ye  time  t'  think  an'  see 
what  yer  passin'.  Like  t'  set  'n  think  once  in 
a  while.  We  don't  do  enough  thinkin'  here  in 
this  part  o'  the  country." 

"  Y'd  orter  buy  this  mare  an  learn  how  t'  ride 
fast,"  said  Dean. 

"  Thet  one,"  said  Uncle  Eb,  squinting  at  the 
mare,  "  why  she  can't  go  fast  'nough." 

"  She  can't,  hey?  "  said  Dean,  bridling  with 
injured  pride.  "  I  don't  think  there's  any- 
thing in  this  town  can  head  her." 

"  Thunder!  "  said  Uncle  Eb,  "  I  can  go  by 
her  with  this  ol'  plug  easy  'twixt  here  an'  our 
gate.     Ye  didn't  know  what  ye  was  sellin'." 

"  If  ye  pass  her  once  I'll  give  her  to  ye,"  said 
he. 

"  Mean  it?  "  said  Uncle  Eb. 

"  Sartin,"  said  he,  a  little  redder  in  the  face. 
232 


Eben  Holden 

"  An'  if  I  don't  111  give  ye  the  whistler,"  said 
Uncle  Eb  as  he  turned  about. 

The  mare  went  away,  under  the  whip,  before 
we  had  fairly  started.  She  was  going  a  fifty 
shot  but  in  a  moment  we  were  lapping  upon  her 
hind  wheel.  Dean  threw  a  startled  glance  over 
his  shoulder.  Then  he  shouted  to  the  mare. 
She  quickened  her  pace  a  little  but  we  kept  our 
position.  Uncle  Eb  was  leaning  over  the  dasher 
his  white  locks  flying.  He  had  something 
up  his  sleeve,  as  they  say,  and  was  not  yet  ready 
to  use  it.  Then  Dean  began  to  shear  over  to 
cut  us  off — a  nasty  trick  of  the  low  horseman. 
I  saw  Uncle  Eb  glance  at  the  ditch  ahead.  I 
knew  what  was  coming  and  took  a  firm  hold  of 
the  seat.  The  ditch  was  a  bit  rough,  but  Uncle 
Eb  had  no  lack  of  courage.  He  turned  the 
horse's  head,  let  up  on  the  reins  and  whistled. 
I  have  never  felt  such  a  thrill  as  then.  Our 
horse  leaped  into  the  deep  grass  running  like 
a  wild  deer. 

"Hi  there!  hi  there!"  Uncle  Eb  shouted, 
bouncing  in  his  seat,  as  we  went  over  stones  and 
hummocks  going  like  the  wind. 

"  Go,  ye  brown  devil !  "  he  yelled,  his  hat 
flying  off  as  he  shook  the  reins. 

The  mare  lost  her  stride;  we  flashed  by  and 
came  up  into  the  road.     Looking  back  I  saw 
233 


Eben   Holden 

her  jumping  up  and  down  a  long  way  behind  us 
and  Dean  whipping  her.  Uncle  Eb,  his  hands 
over  the  dasher,  had  pulled  down  to  a  trot. 
Ahead  of  us  we  could  see  our  folks — men  and 
women — at  the  gate  looking  down  the  road  at 
us  waving  hats  and  handkerchiefs.  They  had 
heard  the  noise  of  the  battle.  Uncle  Eb  let  up 
on  the  reins  and  looked  back  snorting  with 
amusement.  In  a  moment  we  pulled  up  at  our 
gate.     Dean  came  along  slowly. 

"  Thet's  a  purty  good  mare,"  said  Uncle  Eb. 

"  Yer  welcome  to  her,"  said  Dean  sul- 
lenly. 

"  Wouldn't  hev  her,"  said  Uncle  Eb. 

"  Why  not?  "  said  the  trader  a  look  of  relief 
coming  over  his  face. 

"  Can't  go  fast  enough  for  my  use,"  Uncle 
Eb  answered.  '  Ye  can  jest  hitch  her  in  here 
awhile  an'  the  first  day  ye  come  over  with  a 
hundred  dollars  ye  can  hev  her  'n  the  whistler, 
both  on  'em.  Thet  whistler's  a  grand  hoss ! 
Can  hold  his  breath  longer'n  any  hoss  I  ever 
knew !  " 

The  sum  named  was  that  we  had  paid  him 
for  the  highly  accomplished  animal.  Dean  had 
the  manhood  to  pay  up  then  and  there  and  said 
he  would  send  for  the  other  horse,  which  he 
never  did. 

234 


Eben  Holden 

"  Guess  he  wont  bother  us  any  more  when 
we  stop  t'  look  at  the  scenery,"  said  Uncle  Eb, 
laughing  as  Dean  drove  away.  "  Kind  o'  resky 
business  buyin'  hosses,"  he  added.  "  Got  t' 
jedge  the  owner  as  well  as  the  hoss.  If  there's 
anything  the  matter  with  his  conscience  it'll 
come  out  in  the  hoss  some  where — every  time. 
Never  knew  a  mean  man  t'  own  a  good  hoss. 
Remember,  boy,  's  a  lame  soul  thet  drives  a 
limpin'  hoss." 
"No  use  talkin';  Bill  ain'  no  jedge  uv  a  hoss" 
said  David  Brower.  "  He'll  hev  t'  hev  an  ed- 
ucation er  he'll  git  t'  the  poor  house  some  day 
sartin." 

"  Wall  he's  a  good  jedge  o'  gals  anyway," 
said  Uncle  Eb. 

As  for  myself  I  was  now  hopelessly  con- 
firmed in  my  dislike  of  farming  and  I  never 
traded  horses  again. 


235 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

Late  in  August  Uncle  Eb  and  1  took  our 
Black  Hawk  stallion  to  the  fair  in  Hillsborough 
and  showed  him  for  a  prize.  He  was  fit  for  the 
eye  of  a  king  when  we  had  finished  grooming 
him,  that  morning,  and  led  him  out,  rearing 
in  play,  his  eyes  flashing  from  under  his  broad 
plume,  so  that  all  might  have  a  last  look  at  him. 
His  arched  neck  and  slim  barrel  glowed  like 
satin  as  the  sunlight  fell  upon  him.  His  black 
mane  flew,  he  shook  the  ground  with  his  hoofs 
playing  at  the  halter's  end.  He  hated  a  har- 
ness and  once  in  it  lost  half  his  conceit.  But 
he  was  vainest  of  all  things  in  Faraway  when 
we  drove  off  with  him  that  morning. 

All  roads  led  to  Hillsborough  fair  time.  Up 
and  down  the  long  hills  we  went  on  a  stiff  jog 
passing  lumber  wagons  with  generations 
enough  in  them  to  make  a  respectable  gene- 
alogy, the  old  people  in  chairs;  light  wagons 
that  carried  young  men  and  their  sweethearts; 
backwoodsmen  coming  out  in  ancient  vehicles 
upon  reeling,  creaking  wheels  to  get  food  for  a 
year's  reflection — all  thickening  the  haze  of  the 
236 


Eben  Holden 

late  summer  with  the  dust  of  the  roads.  And 
Hillsborough  itself  was  black  with  people. 
The  shouts  of  excited  men,  the  neighing  of 
horses,  the  bellowing  of  cattle,  the  wailing  of 
infants,  the  howling  of  vendors,  the  pressing 
crowd,  had  begun  to  sow  the  seed  of  misery  in 
the  minds  of  those  accustomed  only  to  the 
peaceful  quietude  of  the  farm.  The  staring 
eye,  the  palpitating  heart,  the  aching  head, 
were  successive  stages  in  the  doom  of  many. 
The  fair  had  its  floral  hall  carpeted  with  saw- 
dust and  redolent  of  cedar,  its  dairy  house,  its 
mechanics'  hall  sacred  to  farming  implements, 
its  long  sheds  full  of  sheep  and  cattle,  its  dining 
hall,  its  temporary  booths  of  rough  lumber,  its 
half  mile  track  and  grand  stand.  Here  voices 
of  beast  and  vendor  mingled  in  a  chorus  of  cu- 
pidity and  distress.  In  Floral  Hall  Sol  Rollin 
was  on  exhibition.  He  gave  me  a  cold  nod, 
his  lips  set  for  a  tune  as  yet  inaudible.  He  was 
surveying  sundry  examples  of  rustic  art  that 
hung  on  the  circular  railing  of  the  gallery  and 
trying  to  preserve  a  calm  breast.  He  was  look- 
ing at  Susan  Baker's  painted  cow  that  hung 
near  us. 

"  Very  descriptive,"  he  said  when  I  pressed 
him  for  his  notion  of  it.     "  Rod  Baker's  sister 
Susan  made  thet  cow.     Gits  tew  dollars  an' 
237 


Eben  Holden 

fifty  cents  every  fair  time — wish  I  was  dewin  's 
well." 

"  That's  one  of  the  most  profitable  cows  in 
this  country,"  I  said.  "  Looks  a  good  deal  like 
a  new  breed." 

"  Yes,"  he  answered  soberly,  then  he  set  his 
lips,  threw  a  sweeping  glance  into  the  gallery, 
and  passed  on. 

Susan  Baker's  cow  was  one  of  the  permanent 
features  of  the  county  fair,  and  was  indeed  a 
curiosity  not  less  remarkable  than  the  sacred  ox 
of  Mr.  Barn  urn. 

Here  also  I  met  a  group  of  the  pretty  girls 
who  had  been  my  schoolmates.  They  sur- 
rounded me,  chattering  like  magpies. 

"  There's  going  to  be  a  dance  at  our  house 
to-night,"  said  one  of  them,  "  and  you  must 
come." 

"  I  cannot;  I  must  go  home,"  I  said. 

"  Of  course !  "  said  a  red  cheeked  saucy  miss. 
"  The  stuck  up  thing !  He  wouldn't  go  any- 
where unless  he  could  have  his  sister  with  him." 

Then  they  went  away  laughing. 

I  found  Ab  Thomas  at  the  rifle  range.  He 
was  whittling  as  he  considered  a  challenge  from 
Tip  Taylor  to  shoot  a  match.  He  turned  and 
"  hefted "  the  rifle,  silently,  and  then  he 
squinted  over  the  barrel  two  or  three  times. 
238 


Eben  Holden 

"  Dunno  but  what  I'll  try  ye  once,"  he  said 
presently,  "  jes  t'  see." 

Once  started  they  grew  red  in  their  faces  and 
shot  themselves  weary  in  a  reckless  contest  of 
skill  and  endurance.  A  great  hulking  fellow, 
half  drunk  and  a  bit  quarrelsome,  came  up, 
presently,  and  endeavored  to  help  Ab  hold  his 
rifle.  The  latter  brushed  him  away  and  said 
nothing  for  a  moment.  But  every  time  he 
tried  to  take  aim  the  man  jostled  him. 

Ab  looked  up  slowly  and  calmly,  his  eyebrows 
tilted  for  his  aim,  and  said,  "  Go  off  I  tell  ye." 
Then  he  set  himself  and  took  aim  again. 

"  Le'me  hold  it,"  said  the  man,  reaching  for 
the  barrel.  "  Shoot  better  if  I  do  the  aiminV 
A  laugh  greeted  this  remark.  Ab  looked  up 
again.  There  was  a  quick  start  in  his  great 
slouching  figure. 

"Take  yer  hand  off  o'  thet,"  he  said  a  little 
louder  than  before. 

The  man,  aching  for  more  applause,  grew 
more  impertinent.  Ab  quietly  handed  the 
rifle  to  its  owner.  Then  something  happened 
suddenly.  It  was  so  quickly  over  I  am  not 
quite  sure  of  the  order  of  business,  but  anyhow 
he  seized  the  intruder  by  the  shoulders  flinging 
him  down  so  heavily  it  knocked  the  dust  out  of 
the  grass. 

239 


Eben  Holden 

"  A  fight!  "  somebody  shouted  and  men  and 
boys  came  running  from  all  sides.  We  were 
locked  in  a  pushing  crowd  before  I  could  turn. 
The  intruder  lay  stunned  a  moment.  Then  he 
rose,  bare  headed,  his  back  covered  with  dust, 
pushed  his  way  out  and  ran. 

Ab  turned  quietly  to  the  range. 

"  Hedn't  orter  t'  come  an'  try  t'  dew  my 
aimin',''  he  said  mildly,  by  way  of  protest,  "  I 
won't  hev  it." 

Then  he  inquired  about  the  score  and  calmly 
took  aim  again. 

The  stallion  show  came  on  that  afternoon. 

"  They  can't  never  beat  thet  hoss,"  Uncle  Eb 
had  said  to  me. 

"  'Fraid  they  will,"  I  answered.  "  They're 
better  hitched  for  one  thing." 

"  But  they  haint  got  the  ginger  in  'em,"  said 
he,  "  er  the  git  up  'n  git.  If  we  can  show 
what's  in  him  the  Hawk'll  beat  'em  easy." 

If  we  won  I  was  to  get  the  prize  but  I  had 
small  hope  of  winning.  When  I  saw  one  after 
another  prance  out,  in  sparkling  silver  harness 
adorned  with  rosettes  of  ribbon — light  stepping, 
beautiful  creatures  all  of  them — I  could  see 
nothing  but  defeat  for  us.  Indeed  I  could  see 
we  had  been  too  confident.  I  dreaded  the  mo- 
ment when  Uncle  Eb  should  drive  down  with 
240 


Eben  Holden 

Black  Hawk  in  a  plain  leather  harness, 
drawing  a  plainer  buggy.  I  had  planned  to 
spend  the  prize  money  taking  Hope  to  the  har- 
vest ball  at  Rickard's,  and  I  had  worked  hard 
to  put  the  Hawk  in  good  fettle.  I  began  to  feel 
the  bitterness  of  failure. 

"Black  Hawk!  Where  is  Black  Hawk?" 
said  one  of  the  judges  loudly. 

"  Owned  by  David  Brower  o'  Faraway," 
said  another  looking  at  his  card. 

Where  indeed  was  Uncle  Eb?  I  got  up  on 
the  fence  and  looked  all  about  me  anxiously. 
Then  I  heard  a  great  cheering  up  the  track. 
Somebody  was  coming  down,  at  a  rapid  pace, 
riding  a  splendid  moving  animal,  a  knee  rising 
to  the  nose  at  each  powerful  stride.  His  head 
and  flying  mane  obscured  the  rider  but  I  could 
see  the  end  of  a  rope  swinging  in  his  hand. 
There  was  something  familiar  in  the  easy  high 
stride  of  the  horse.  The  cheers  came  on  ahead 
of  him  like  foam  before  a  breaker.  Upon  my 
eyes!  it  was  Black  Hawk,  with  nothing  but  a 
plain  rope  halter  on  his  head,  and  Uncle  Eb 
riding  him. 

"  G'lang  there!"  he  shouted,  swinging  the 

halter    stale    to    the  shining  flank.     "  G'lang 

there !  "  and  he  went  by,  like  a  flash,  the  tail  ot 

Black  Hawk  straight  out  behind  him,  its  end 

241 


Eben  Holden 

feathering  in  the  wind.  It  was  a  splendid 
thing  to  see — that  white  haired  man,  sitting 
erect  on  the  flying  animal,  with  only  a  rope  hal- 
ter in  his  hand.  Every  man  about  me  was  yell- 
ing. I  swung  my  hat,  shouting  myself  hoarse. 
When  Uncle  Eb  came  back  the  Hawk  was 
walking  quietly  in  a  crowd  of  men  and  boys 
eager  to  feel  his  silken  sides.  I  crowded 
through  and  held  the  horse's  nose  while  Uncle 
Eb  got  down. 

"  Thought  I  wouldn't  put  no  hither  on  him," 
said  Uncle  Eb,  "  God's  gin'  'im  a  good  'miff 
harness." 

The  judges  came  and  looked  him  over. 

"  Guess  he'll  win  the  prize  all  right,"  said  one 
of  them. 

And  he  did.  When  we  came  home  that 
evening  every  horse  on  the  road  thought  him- 
self a  trotter  and  went  speeding  to  try  his  pace 
with  everything  that  came  up  beside  him.  And 
many  a  man  of  Faraway,  that  we  passed,  sent 
up  a  shout  of  praise  for  the  Black  Hawk. 

But  I  was  thinking  of  Hope  and  the  dance  at 
Rickard's.  I  had  plenty  of  money  now  and  my 
next  letter  urged  her  to  come  home  at  once. 


242 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

Hope  returned  for  a  few  days  late  in  Au- 
gust. Invitations  were  just  issued  for  the  har- 
vest dance  at  Rickard's. 

"  You  mus'  take  'er,"  said  Uncle  Eb,  the  day 
she  came.  "  She's  a  purty  dancer  as  a  man 
ever  see.  Prance  right  up  an'  tell  'er  she  mus' 
go.     Don'  want  'o  let  any  one  git  ahead  o'  ye." 

"  Of  course  I  will  go,"  she  said  in  answer  to 
my  invitation,  "  I  shouldn't  think  you  were 
a  beau  worth  having  if  you  did  not  ask  me." 

The  yellow  moon  was  peering  over  Woody 
Ledge  when  we  went  away  that  evening.  I 
knew  it  was  our  last  pleasure  seeking  in  Fara- 
way, and  the  crickets  in  the  stubble  filled  the 
silence  with  a  kind  of  mourning. 

She  looked  so  fine  in  her  big  hat  and  new 
gown  with  its  many  dainty  accessories  of  lace 
and  ribbon,  adjusted  with  so  much  patting  and 
pulling,  that  as  she  sat  beside  me,  I  hardly  dared 
touch  her  for  fear  of  spoiling  something.  When 
she  shivered  a  little  and  said  it  was  growing 
cool  I  put  my  arm  about  her,  and,  as  I  drew  her 
243 


Eben  Holden 

closer  to  my  side,  she  turned  her  hat,  obligingly, 
and  said  it  was  a  great  nuisance. 

I  tried  to  kiss  her  then,  but  she  put  her  hand 
over  my  mouth  and  said,  sweetly,  that  I  would 
spoil  everything  if  I  did  that. 

"  I  must  not  let  you  kiss  me,  William, "she 
said,  "  not — not  for  all  in  the  world.  I'm  sure 
you  wouldn't  have  me  do  what  I  think  is  wrong 
— would  you  ?  " 

There  was  but  one  answer  to  such  an  appeal, 
and  I  made  myself  as  happy  as  possible  feeling 
her  head  upon  my  shoulder  and  her  soft  hair 
touching  my  cheek.  As  I  think  of  it  now  the 
trust  she  put  in  me  was  something  sublime  and 
holy. 

"  Then  I  shall  talk  about — about  our  love,"  I 
said,  "  I  must  do  something." 

"  Promised  I  wouldn't  let  you,"  she  said. 
Then  she  added  after  a  moment  of  silence, 
"  I'll  tell  you  what  you  may  do — tell  me  what 
is  your  ideal  in  a  woman — the  one  you  would 
love  best  of  all.  I  don't  think  that  would  be 
wicked — do  you  ?  " 

"  I  think  God  would  forgive  that,"  I  said. 
"  She  must  be  tall  and  slim,  with  dainty  feet 
and  hands,  and  a  pair  of  big  eyes,  blue  as  a  vio- 
let, shaded  with  long  dark  lashes.  And  her  hair 
must  be  wavy  and  light  with  a  little  tinge  of 
244 


Eben   Holden 

gold  in  it.  And  her  cheek  must  have  the  pink  of 
the  rose  and  dimples  that  show  in  laughter. 
And  her  voice — that  must  have  music  in  it  and 
the  ring  of  kindness  and  good-nature.  And 
her  lips — let  them  show  the  crimson  of  her 
blood  and  be  ready  to  give  and  receive  a  kiss 
when  I  meet  her." 

She  sighed  and  nestled  closer  to  me. 

"  If  I  let  you  kiss  me  just  once,"  she  whis- 
pered, "  you  will  not  ask  me  again — will  you?  " 

"  No  sweetheart  I  will  not,"  I  answered. 
Then  we  gave  each  other  such  a  kiss  as  may  be 
known  once  and  only  once  in  a  life  time. 

"  What  would  you  do  for  the  love  of  a  girl 
like  that?"  she  whispered. 

I  thought  a  moment  sounding  depths  of  un- 
discovered woe  to  see  if  there  were  anything  I 
should  hesitate  to  suffer  and  there  was  nothing. 

"I'd  lay  me  doun  an'  dee,"  I  said. 

And  I  well  remember  how,  when  I  lay  dying, 
as  I  believed,  in  rain  and  darkness  on  the 
bloody  field  of  Bull  Run,  I  thought  of  that  mo- 
ment and  of  those  words. 

"  I  cannot  say  such  beautiful  things  as  you," 
she  answered,  when  I  asked  her  to  describe  her 
ideal.  "  He  must  be  good  and  he  must  be  tall 
and  handsome  and  strong  and  brave." 

Then  she  sang  a  tender  love  ballad.  I  have 
245 


Eben  Holden 

often  shared  the  pleasure  of  thousands  under 
the  spell  of  her  voice,  but  I  have  never  heard 
her  sing  as  to  that  small  audience  on  Faraway 
turnpike. 

As  we  came  near  Rickard's  Hall  we  could 
hear  the  fiddles  and  the  calling  off. 

The  windows  on  the  long  sides  of  the  big 
house  were  open.  Long  shafts  of  light  shot 
out  upon  the  gloom.  It  had  always  reminded 
me  of  a  picture  of  Noah's  ark  that  hung  in  my 
bedroom  and  now  it  seemed  to  be  floating,  with 
resting  oars  of  gold,  in  a  deluge  of  darkness. 
We  were  greeted  with  a  noisy  welcome,  at  the 
door.  Many  of  the  boys  and  girls  came,  from 
all  sides  of  the  big  hall,  and  shook  hands  with 
us.  Enos  Brown,  whose  long  forelocks  had 
been  oiled  for  the  occasion  and  combed  down  so 
they  touched  his  right  eyebrow,  was  panting  in 
a  jig  that  jarred  the  house.  His  trouser  legs 
were  caught  on  the  tops  of  his  fine  boots.  He 
nodded  to  me  as  I  came  in,  snapped  his  fingers 
and  doubled  his  energy.  It  was  an  exhibition 
both  of  power  and  endurance.  He  was  damp  and 
apologetic  when,  at  length,  he  stopped  with  a 
mighty  bang  of  his  foot  c.nd  sat  down  beside 
me.  He  said  he  was  badly  out  of  practice 
when  I  offered  congratulations.  The  first 
fiddler  was  a  small  man,  with  a  short  leg,  and 
246 


Eben  Holden 

a  character  that  was  minus  one  dimension.  It 
had  length  and  breadth  but  no  thickness.  He 
sat  with  his  fellow  player  on  a  little  platform  at 
one  end  of  the  room.  He  was  an  odd  man  who 
wandered  all  over  the  township  with  his  fiddle. 
He  played  by  ear,  and  I  have  seen  babies  smile 
and  old  men  dance  when  his  bow  was  swaying. 
I  remember  that  when  I  heard  it  for  the  first 
time,  I  determined  that  I  should  be  a  fiddler  if 
I  ever  grew  to  be  a  man.  But  David  told  me 
that  fiddlers  were  a  worthless  lot,  and  that  no 
wise  man  should  ever  fool  with  a  fiddle. 
One  is  lucky,  I  have  since  learned,  if  any  dream 
of  yesterday  shall  stand  the  better  light  of  to- 
day or  the  more  searching  rays  of  to-morrow. 

"Choose  yer  partners  fer  Money  Musk!" 
the  caller  shouted. 

Hope  and  I  got  into  line,  the  music  started, 
the  circles  began  to  sway.  Darwin  Powers, 
an  old  but  frisky  man,  stood  up  beside  the  fid- 
dlers, whistling,  with  sobriety  and  vigor,-  as 
they  played.  It  was  a  pleasure  to  see  some  of 
the  older  men  of  the  neighborhood  join  the 
dizzy  riot  by  skipping  playfully  in  the  corners. 
They  tried  to  rally  their  unwilling  wives,  and 
generally  a  number  of  them  were  dancing  before 
the  night  was  over.  The  life  and  color  of  the 
scene,  the  fresh,  young  faces  of  the  girls — some 
247 


Eben   Holden 

of  them  models  of  rustic  beauty — the  playful 
antics  of  the  young  men,  the  merrymaking  of 
their  fathers,  the  laughter,  the  airs  of  gallantry, 
the  glances  of  affection, — there  is  a  magic  in 
the  thought  of  it  all  that  makes  me  young 
again. 

There  were  teams  before  and  behind  us  when 
we  came  home,  late  at  night,  so  sleepy  that  the 
stars  went  reeling  as  we  looked  at  them. 

"  This  night  is  the  end  of  many  things,"  I 
remarked. 

"  And  the  beginning  of  better  ones,  I  hope," 
was  her  answer. 

"  Yes,  but  they  are  so  far  away,"  I  said, 
"  you  leave  home  to  study  and  I  am  to  be  four 
years  in  college — possibly  I  can  finish  in  three." 

"  Perfectly  terrible!  "  she  said,  and  then  she 
added  the  favorite  phrase  and  tone  of  her 
mother :     "  We  must  be  patient." 

"  I  am  very  sorry  of  one  thing,"  I  said. 

"What's  that?" 

"  I  promised  not  to  ask  you  for  one  more 
kiss." 

"  Well  then,"  said  she,  "  you — you — 
needn't  ask  me." 

And  in  a  moment  I  helped  her  out  at  the 
door. 


248 


CHAPTER  XXV 

David  Brower  had  prospered,  as  I  have  said 
before,  and  now  he  was  chiefly  concerned  in  the 
welfare  of  his  children.  So,  that  he  might  give 
us  the  advantages  of  the  town,  he  decided  ei- 
ther to  lease  or  sell  his  farm — by  far  the  hand- 
somest property  in  the  township.  I  was  there 
when  a  buyer  came,  in  the  last  days  of  that 
summer.  We  took  him  over  the  smooth  acres 
from  Lone  Pine  to  Woody  Ledge,  from  the  top 
of  Bowman's  Hill  to  Tinkle  Brook  in  the  far 
valley.  He  went  with  us  through  every  tidy 
room  of  the  house.  He  looked  over  the  stock 
and  the  stables. 

"  Wall !  what's  it  wuth?  "  he  said,  at  last,  as 
we  stood  looking  down  the  fair  green  acres 
sloping  to  the  sugar  bush. 

David  picked  up  a  stick,  opened  his  knife,  and 
began  to  whittle  thoughtfully,  a  familiar  squint 
of  reflection  in  his  face.  I  suppose  he  thought 
of  all  it  had  cost  him — the  toil  of  many  years, 
the  strength  of  his  young  manhood,  the  youth 
and  beauty  of  his  wife,  a  hundred  things  that 
were  far  better  than  money. 
249 


Eben   Holden 

"  Fifteen  thousan'  dollars,"  he  said  slowly — 
"  not  a  cent  less." 

The  man  parleyed  a  little  over  the  price. 

"  Don'  care  t'  take  any  less  t'-day,"  said 
David  calmly.     "  No  harm  done." 

"  How  much  down?  " 

David  named  the  sum. 

"  An'  possession?  " 

"  Next  week." 

"  Everything  as  it  stan's?  " 

"  Everything  as  it  stan's  'cept  the  beds  an' 
bedding." 

"  Here's  some  money  on  account,"  he  said. 
"  We'll  close  t'-morrer?  " 

"  Close  t'-morrer,"  said  David,  a  little  sad- 
ness in  his  tone,  as  he  took  the  money. 

It  was  growing  dusk  as  the  man  went  away. 
The  crickets  sang  with  a  loud,  accusing,  clamor. 
Slowly  we  turned  and  went  into  the  dark  house, 
David  whistling  under  his  breath.  Elizabeth 
was  resting  in  her  chair.  She  was  humming 
an  old  hymn  as  she  rocked. 

"  Sold  the  farm,  mother,"  said  David. 

She  stopped  singing  but  made  no  answer. 
In  the  dusk,  as  we  sat  down,  I  saw  her  face 
leaning  upon  her  hand.  Over  the  hills  and  out 
of  the  fields  around  us  came  many  voices — the 
low  chant  in  the  stubble,  the  baying  of  a  hound 
250 


Eben  Holden 

in  the  far  timber,  the  cry  of  the  tree  toad — a 
tiny  drift  of  odd  things  (like  that  one  sees  at 
sea)  on  the  deep  eternal  silence  of  the  heavens. 
There  was  no  sound  in  the  room  save  the  low 
creaking  of  the  rocker  in  which  Elizabeth  sat. 
After  all  the  going,  and  coming,  and  doing, 
and  saying  of  many  years  here  was  a  little  spell 
of  silence  and  beyond  lay  the  untried  things  of 
the  future.     For  me  it  was  a  time  of  reckoning. 

"  Been  hard  at  work  here  all  these  years, 
mother,"  said  David.  "  Oughter  be  glad  t'  git 
away." 

"  Yes,"  said  she  sadly,  "  it's  been  hard  work. 
Years  ago  I  thought  I  never  could  stan'  it.  But 
now  I've  got  kind  o'  used  t'  it." 

"  Time  ye  got  used  t'  pleasure  'n  comfort," 
he  said.  "  Come  kind  o'  hard,  at  fust,  but  ye 
mus'  try  t'  stan'  it.  If  we're  goin'  t'  hev  sech 
fun  in  Heaven  as  Deacon  Hospur  tells  on  we 
oughter  begin  t'  practice  er  we'll  be  'shamed  uv 
ourselves." 

The  worst  was  over.  Elizabeth  began  to 
laugh. 

At  length  a  strain  of  song  came  out  of  the 
distance. 

"  Maxwelton's  braes  are  bonnie  where  early  falls  the 
dew." 

"  It's  Hope  and  Uncle  Eb,"  said  David  while 
251 


Eben  Holden 

I  went  for  the  lantern.  "  Wonder  what's  kep' 
'em  s'  late." 

When  the  lamps  were  lit  the  old  house 
seemed  suddenly  to  have  got  a  sense  of  what 
had  been  done.  The  familiar  creak  of  the  stair- 
way as  I  went  to  bed  had  an  appeal  and  a  pro- 
test. The  rude  chromo  of  the  voluptuous  lady, 
with  red  lips  and  the  name  of  Spring,  that  had 
always  hung  in  my  chamber  had  a  mournful, 
accusing  look.  The  stain  upon  her  cheek  that 
had  come  one  day  from  a  little  leak  in  the  roof 
looked  now  like  the  path  of  a  tear  drop.  And 
when  the  wind  came  up  in  the  night  and  I  heard 
the  creaking  of  Lone  Pine  it  spoke  of  the  doom 
of  that  house  and  its  own  that  was  not  far  dis- 
tant. 

We  rented  a  new  home  in  town,  that  week, 
and  were  soon  settled  in  it.  Hope  went  away 
to  resume  her  studies  the  same  day  I  began 
work  in  college. 


252 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

Not  much  in  my  life  at  college  is  essential  to 
this  history — save  the  training.  The  students 
came  mostly  from  other  and  remote  parts  of 
the  north  country — some  even  from  other 
states.  Coming  largely  from  towns  and  cities 
they  were  shorn  of  those  simple  and  rugged 
traits,  that  distinguished  the  men  o'  Faraway, 
and  made  them  worthy  of  what  poor  fame  this 
book  may  afford.  In  the  main  they  were  like 
other  students  the  world  over,  I  take  it,  and 
mostly,  as  they  have  shown,  capable  of  winning 
their  own  fame.  It  all  seemed  very  high  and 
mighty  and  grand  to  me  especially  the  names  of 
the  courses.  I  had  my  baptism  of  Sophomoric 
scorn  and  many  a  heated  argument  over  my 
title  to  life,  liberty  and  the  pursuit  of  learning. 
It  became  necessary  to  establish  it  by  force  of 
arms,  which  I  did  decisively  and  with  as  little 
delay  as  possible.  I  took  much  interest  in  ath- 
letic sports  and  was  soon  a  good  ball  player,  a 
boxer  of  some  skill,  and  the  best  wrestler  in 
college.  Things  were  going  on  comfortably 
253 


Eben   Holden 

when  an  upper  classman  met  me  and  suggested 
that  on  a  coming  holiday,  the  Freshmen  ought 
to  wear  stove  pipe  hats.  Those  hats  were  the 
seed  of  great  trouble. 

"  Stove  pipe  hats !  "  I  said  thoughtfully. 

"  They're  a  good  protection,"  he  assured 
me. 

It  seemed  a  very  reasonable,  not  to  say  a 
necessary  precaution.  A  man  has  to  be  young 
and  innocent  sometime  or  what  would  become 
of  the  Devil.  I  did  not  see  that  the  stove  pipe 
hat  was  the  red  rag  of  insurrection  and,  when  I 
did  see  it,  I  was  up  to  my  neck  in  the  matter. 

"  You  see  the  Sophs  are  apt  to  be  very  nasty 
that  day,"  he  continued. 

I  acknowledged  they  were  quite  capable  of  it. 

"  And  they  don't  care  where  they  hit,"  he 
went  on. 

I  felt  of  my  head  that  was  still  sore,  from  a 
forceful  argument  of  the  preceding  day,  and 
admitted  there  was  good  ground  for  the  asser- 
tion. 

When  I  met  my  classmen,  that  afternoon,  I 
was  an  advocate  of  the  "  stove  pipe  "  as  a 
means  of  protection.  There  were  a  number  of 
husky  fellows,  in  my  class,  who  saw  its  resist- 
ing power  and  seconded  my  suggestion.  We 
decided  to  leave  it  to  the  ladies  of  the  class  and 
254 


Eben   Holden 

they  greeted  our  plan  with  applause.  So,  that 
morning,  we  arrayed  ourselves  in  high  hats, 
heavy  canes  and  fine  linen,  marching  together 
up  College  Hill.  We  had  hardly  entered  the 
gate  before  we  saw  the  Sophs  forming  in  a 
thick  rank  outside  the  door  prepared,  as  we 
took  it,  to  resist  our  entrance.  They  out-num- 
bered us  and  were,  in  the  main,  heavier  but  we 
had  a  foot  or  more  of  good  stiff  material  be- 
tween each  head  and  harm.  Of  just  what  be- 
fell us,  when  we  got  to  the  enemy,  I  have  never 
felt  sure.  Of  the  total  inefficiency  of  the  stove 
pipe  hat  as  an  article  of  armor,  I  have  never  had 
the  slightest  doubt  since  then.  There  was  a 
great  flash  and  rattle  of  canes.  Then  the  air 
was  full  of  us.  In  the  heat  of  it  all  prudence 
went  to  the  winds.  We  hit  out  right  and  left, 
on  both  sides,  smashing  hats  and  bruising  heads 
and  hands.  The  canes  went  down  in  a  jiffy 
and  then  we  closed  with  each  other  hip  and 
thigh.  Collars  were  ripped  off,  coats  were 
torn,  shirts  were  gory  from  the  blood  of  noses, 
and  in  this  condition  the  most  of  us  were  rolling 
and  tumbling  on  the  ground.  I  had  flung  a 
man,  heavily,  and  broke  away  and  was  tackling 
another  when  I  heard  a  hush  in  the  tumult  and 
then  the  voice  of  the  president.  He  stood  on 
the  high  steps,  his  grey  head  bare,  his  right 
255 


Eben   Holden 

hand  lifted.     It  must  have  looked  like  carnage 
from  where  he  stood. 

"  Young  gentlemen !  "  he  called.  "  Cease,  I 
command  you.  If  we  cannot  get  along  with- 
out this  thing  we  will  shut  up  shop." 

Well,  that  was  the  end  of  it  and  came  near 
being  the  end  of  our  careers  in  college.  We 
looked  at  each  other,  torn  and  panting  and 
bloody,  and  at  the  girls,  who  stood  by,  pale  with 
alarm.  Then  we  picked  up  the  shapeless  hats 
and  went  away  for  repairs.  I  had  heard  that 
the  path  of  learning  was  long  and  beset  with 
peril  but  I  hoped,  not  without  reason,  the  worst 
was  over.  As  I  went  off  the  campus  the  top 
of  my  hat  was  hanging  over  my  left  ear.  my 
collar  and  cravat  were  turned  awry,  my  trou- 
sers gaped  over  one  knee.  I  was  talking  with  a 
fellow  sufferer  and  patching  the  skin  on  my 
knuckles,  when  suddenly  I  met  Uncle  Eb. 

"  By  the  Lord  Harry !  "  he  said,  looking  me 
over  from  top  to  toe,  "  teacher  up  there  mus'  be 
purtv  ha'sh." 

"  It  wa'n't  the  teacher,"  I  said. 

"  Must  have  fit  then." 

"  Fit  hard,"  I  answered,  laughing. 

" Try  t'  walk  on  ye?" 

"  Tried  t'  walk  on  me.     Took  several  steps 
too,"  I  said  stooping  to  brush  my  trousers. 
256 


Eben   Holden 

"  Hm !  guess  he  found  it  ruther  bad  walkin' 
didn't  he?  "  my  old  friend  inquired.  "  Leetle 
bit  rough  in  spots?  " 

"  Little  bit  rough,  Uncle  Eb — that's  cer- 
tain." 

"  Better  not  go  hum,"  he  said,  a  great  relief 
in  his  face.  "  Look  's  if  ye'd  been  chopped 
down  an'  sawed — an'  split — an'  thro  wed  'n  a 
pile.     I'll  go  an'  bring  over  some  things  fer  ye." 

I  went  with  my  friend,  who  had  suffered  less 
damage,  and  Uncle  Eb  brought  me  what  I 
needed  to  look  more  respectable  than  I  felt. 

The  president,  great  and  good  man  that  he 
was,  forgave  us,  finally,  after  many  interviews 
and  such  wholesome  reproof  as  made  us  all 
ashamed  of  our  folly. 

In  my  second  year,  at  college,  Hope  went 
away  to  continue  her  studies  in  New  York. 
She  was  to  live  in  the  family  of  John  Fuller, 
a  friend  of  David,  who  had  left  Faraway  years 
before  and  made  his  fortune  there  in  the  big 
city.  Her  going  filled  my  days  with  a  linger- 
ing and  pervasive  sadness.  I  saw  in  it  some- 
times the  shadow  of  a  heavier  loss  than  I  dared 
to  contemplate.  She  had  come  home  once  a 
week  from  Ogdensburg  and  I  had  always  had 
a  letter  between  times.  She  was  ambitious 
and,  I  fancy,  they  let  her  go,  so  that  there 
257 


Eben   Holden 

should  be  no  danger  of  any  turning  aside  from 
the  plan  of  my  life,  or  of  hers;  for  they  knew 
our  hearts  as  well  as  we  knew  them  and  possi- 
bly better. 

We  had  the  parlor  to  ourselves  the  evening 
before  she  went  away,  and  I  read  her  a  little 
love  tale  I  had  written  especially  for  that  oc- 
casion. It  gave  us  some  chance  to  discuss  the 
absorbing  and  forbidden  topic  of  our  lives. 

"  He's  too  much  afraid  of  her,"  she  said, 
"  he  ought  to  put  his  arm  about  her  waist  in 
that  love  scene." 

"  Like  that,"  I  said,  suiting  the  action  to  the 
word. 

"  About  like  that,"  she  answered,  laughing, 
"  and  then  he  ought  to  say  something  very, 
very,  nice  to  her  before  he  proposes — some- 
thing about  his  having  loved  her  for  so  long — 
you  know." 

"  And  how  about  her?  "  I  asked,  my  arm  still 
about  her  waist. 

"  If  she  really  loves  him,"  Hope  answered, 
"  she  would  put  her  arms  about  his  neck  and 
lay  her  head  upon  his  shoulder,  so; — and  then 
he  might  say  what  is  in  the  story."  She  was 
smiling  now  as  she  looked  up  at  me. 

"And  kiss  her?" 

"  And  kiss  her,"  she  whispered;  and,  let  me 
258 


Eben   Holden 

add,  that  part  of  the  scene  was  in  nowise  ne- 
glected. 

"  And  when  he  says :  '  will  you  wait  for  me 
and  keep  me  always  in  your  heart?'  what 
should  be  her  answer/'  I  continued. 

"  Always!  "  she  said. 

"  Hope,  this  is  our  own  story,"  I  whispered, 
"  Does  it  need  any  further  correction?  " 

"  It's  too  short — that's  all,"  she  answered,  as 
our  lips  met  again. 

Just  then  Uncle  Eb  opened  the  door,  sud- 
denly. 

"  Tut  tut !  "  he  said  turning  quickly  about. 

"  Come  in,  Uncle  Eb,"  said  Hope,  "  come 
right  in,  we  want  to  see  you."  In  a  moment 
she  had  caught  him  by  the  arm. 

"  Don'  want  'o  break  up  the  meetin',"  said  he 
laughing. 

"  We  don't  care  if  you  do  know,"  said  Hope, 
"  we're  not  ashamed  of  it." 

"  Haint  got  no  cause  t'  be,"  he  said.  "  Go  it 
while  ye're  young  'n  full  'o  vinegar!  That's 
what  I  say  every  time.  It's  the  best 
fun  there  is.  I  thought  I'd  like  t'  hev  ye  both 
come  up  t'  my  room,  fer  a  minute,  'fore  yer 
mother  'n  father  come  back,"  he  said  in  a  low 
tone  that  was  almost  a  whisper. 
Then  he  shut  one  eye,  suggestively,  and  beck- 
259 


Eben   Holden 

oned  with  his  head,  as  we  followed  him  up  the 
stairway  to  the  little  room  in  which  he  slept. 
He  knelt  by  the  bed  and  pulled  out  the  old  skin 
covered  trunk  that  David  Brower  had  given 
him  soon  after  we  came.  He  felt  a  moment  for 
the  key  hole,  his  hand  trembling,  and  then  I 
helped  him  open  the  trunk.  From  under  that 
sacred  suit  of  broadcloth,  worn  only  on  the 
grandest  occasions,  he  fetched  a  bundle  about 
the  size  of  a  man's  head.  It  was  tied  in  a  big 
red  handkerchief.  We  were  both  sitting  on 
the  floor  beside  him. 

"  Heft  it,"  he  whispered. 

I  did  so  and  found  it  heavier  than  I  ex- 
pected. 

"  What  is  it?  "  I  asked. 

"  Spondoolix,"  he  whispered. 

Then  he  untied  the  bundle — a  close  packed 
hoard  of  bankbills  with  some  pieces  of  gold  and 
silver  at  the  bottom. 

"  Haint  never  hed  no  use  fer  it,"  he  said  as 
he  drew  out  a  layer  of  greenbacks  and  spread 
them  with  trembling  fingers.  Then  he  began 
counting  them  slowly  and  carefully. 

"  There !  "  he  whispered,  when  at  length  he 
had  counted  a  hundred  dollars.  "  There  Hope! 
take  thet  an'  put  it  away  in  yer  wallet.    Might 
come  handy  when  ye're  'way  fr'm  hum." 
260 


Eben   Holden 

She  kissed  him  tenderly. 

"  Put  it  n  yer  wallet  an'  say  nothin' — not  a 
word  t'  nobody,"  he  said. 

Then  he  counted  over  a  like  amount  for  me. 

"  Say  nothin'  "  he  said,  looking  up  at  me  over 
his  spectacles.  "  Ye'll  hev  t'  spile  a  suit  o' 
clothes  purty  often  if  them  fellers  keep  a  fightin' 
uv  ye  all  the  time." 

Father  and  mother  were  coming  in  below 
stairs  and,  hearing  them,  we  helped  Uncle  Eb 
tie  up  his  bundle  and  stow  it  away.  Then  we 
went  down  to  meet  them. 

Next  morning  we  bade  Hope  good-by  at  the 
cars  and  returned  to  our  home  with  a  sense  of 
loss  that,  for  long,  lay  heavy  upon  us  all. 


261 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

Uncle  Eb  and  David  were  away  buying 
cattle,  half  the  week,  but  Elizabeth  Brower  was 
always  at  home  to  look  after  my  comfort.  She 
was  up  betimes  in  the  morning  and  singing  at 
her  work  long  before  I  was  out  of  bed.  When 
the  breakfast  was  near  ready  she  came  to  my 
door  with  a  call  so  full  of  cheerfulness  and  good 
nature  it  was  the  best  thing  in  the  day.  And 
often,  at  night,  I  have  known  her  to  come  into 
my  room  when  I  was  lying  awake  with  some 
hard  problem,  to  see  that  I  was  properly  cov- 
ered or  that  my  window  was  not  open  too  far. 
As  we  sat  alone  together,  of  an  evening,  I  have 
seen  her  listen  for  hours  while  I  was  com- 
mitting the  Odes  of  Horace  with  a  curiosity 
that  finally  gave  way  to  resignation.  Some- 
times she  would  look  over  my  shoulder  at  the 
printed  page  and  try  to  discern  some  mean- 
ing in  it.  When  Uncle  Eb  was  with  us  he 
would  often  sit  a  long  time  his  head  turned  at- 
tentively as  the  lines  came  rattling  off  my 
tongue. 

262 


Eben  Holden 

"  Cur'us  talk !  "  he  said,  one  evening-,  as  I 
paused  a  moment,  while  he  crossed  the  room 
for  a  drink  of  water.  "  Don'  seem  t'  make  no 
kind  o'  sense.  I  can  make  out  a  word  here  'n 
there  but  fer  good,  sound,  common  sense  I 
call  it  a  purty  thin  crop." 

Hope  wrote  me  every  week  for  a  time.  A 
church  choir  had  offered  her  a  place  soon  after 
she  went  to  the  big  city.  She  came  home  in- 
tending to  surprise  us  all,  the  first  summer  but 
unfortunately,  I  had  gone  away  in  the  woods 
with  a  party  of  surveyors  and  missed  her.  We 
were  a  month  in  the  wilderness  and  came  out  a 
little  west  of  Albany  where  I  took  a  boat  for 
New  York  to  see  Hope.  I  came  down  the  North 
River  between  the  great  smoky  cities,  on  either 
side  of  it,  one  damp  and  chilly  morning.  The 
noise,  the  crowds,  the  immensity  of  the  town 
appalled  me.  At  John  Fuller's  I  found  that 
Hope  had  gone  home  and  while  they  tried  to 
detain  me  longer  I  came  back  on  the  night  boat 
of  the  same  day.  Hope  and  I  passed  each 
other  in  that  journey  and  I  did  not  see  her  un- 
til the  summer  preceding  my  third  and  last  year 
in  college — the  faculty  having  allowed  me  to 
take  two  years  in  one.  Her  letters  had  come 
less  frequently  and  when  she  came  I  saw  a 
grand  young  lady  of  fine  manners,  her  beauty 
263 


Eben   Holden 

shaping  to  an  ampler  mould,  her  form  straight- 
ening to  the  dignity  of  womanhood. 

At  the  depot  our  hands  were  cold  and  trem- 
bling with  excitement — neither  of  us,  I  fancy, 
knowing  quite  how  far  to  go  in  our  greeting. 
Our  correspondence  had  been  true  to  the  prom- 
ise made  her  mother — there  had  not  been  a 
word  of  love  in  it — only  now  and  then  a  sug- 
gestion of  our  tender  feeling.  We  hesitated 
only  for  the  briefest  moment.  Then  I  put  my 
arm  about  her  neck  and  kissed  her. 

"  I  am  so  glad  to  see  you,"  she  said. 

Well,  she  was  charming  and  beautiful,  but 
different,  and  probably  not  more  different  than 
was  I.  She  was  no  longer  the  laughing,  simple 
mannered  child  of  Faraway,  whose  heart  was 
as  one's  hand  before  him  in  the  daylight.  She 
had  now  a  bit  of  the  woman's  reserve — her 
prudence,  her  skill  in  hiding  the  things  of  the 
heart.  I  loved  her  more  than  ever,  but  some- 
how I  felt  it  hopeless — that  she  had  grown 
out  of  my  life.  She  was  much  in  request 
among  the  people  of  Hillsborough,  and  we 
went  about  a  good  deal  and  had  many  callers. 
But  we  had  little  time  to  ourselves.  She 
seemed  to  avoid  that,  and  had  much  to  say  of 
the  grand  young  men  who  came  to  call  on  her 
in  the  great  city.  Anyhow  it  all  hurt  me  to  the 
264 


Eben   Holden 

soul  and  even  robbed  me  of  my  sleep.  A  better 
lover  than  I  would  have  made  an  end  of  dally- 
ing and  got  at  the  truth,  come  what  might.  But 
I  was  of  the  Puritans,  and  not  of  the  Cavaliers, 
and  my  way  was  that  which  God  had  marked 
for  me,  albeit  I  must  own  no  man  had  ever  a 
keener  eye  for  a  lovely  woman  or  more  heart 
to  please  her.  A  mighty  pride  had  come  to 
me  and  I  had  rather  have  thrown  my  heart  to 
vultures  than  see  it  an  unwelcome  offering. 
And  I  was  quite  out  of  courage  with  Hope; 
she,  I  dare  say,  was  as  much  out  of  patience 
with  me. 

She  returned  in  the  late  summer  and  I  went 
back  to  my  work  at  college  in  a  hopeless  fashion 
that  gave  way  under  the  whip  of  a  strong  will. 

I  made  myself  as  contented  as  possible.  I 
knew  all  the  pretty  girls  and  went  about  with 
some  of  them  to  the  entertainments  of  the  col- 
lege season.  At  last  came  the  long  looked  for 
day  of  my  graduation — the  end  of  my  student 
life. 

The  streets  of  the  town  were  thronged,  every 
student  having  the  college  colors  in  his  coat 
lapel.  The  little  company  of  graduates  trem- 
bled with  fright  as  the  people  crowded  in  to 
the  church,  whispering  and  fanning  themselves, 
in  eager  anticipation.  As  the  former  looked 
265 


Eben   Holden 

from  the  two  side  pews  where  they  sat,  many 
familiar  faces  greeted  them — the  faces  of 
fathers  and  mothers  aglow  with  the  inner  light 
of  pride  and  pleasure  ;  the  faces  of  many  they 
loved  come  to  claim  a  share  in  the  glory  of  that 
day.  I  found  my  own,  I  remember,  but  none 
of  them  gave  me  such  help  as  that  of  Uncle  Eb. 
However  I  might  fare,  none  would  feel  the 
pride  or  disgrace  of  it  more  keenly  than  he.  I 
shall  never  forget  how  he  turned  his  head  to 
catch  every  word  when  I  ascended  the  plat- 
form. As  I  warmed  to  my  argument  I  could 
see  him  nudging  the  arm  of  David,  who  sat 
beside  him,  as  if  to  say,  "  There's  the  boy  that 
came  over  the  hills  with  me  in  a  pack  basket." 
When  I  stopped  a  moment,  groping  for  the 
pext  word,  he  leaned  forward,  embracing  his 
knee,  firmly,  as  if  intending  to  draw  off  a  boot. 
It  was  all  the  assistance  he  could  give  me. 
When  the  exercises  were  over  I  found  Uncle 
Eb  by  the  front  door  of  the  church,  waiting 
for  me. 

"  Willie,  ye  done  noble !  "  said  he. 

"  Did  my  very  best,  Uncle  Eb,"  I  replied. 

"  Liked  it  grand — I  did,  sartin." 

"  Glad  you  liked  it,  Uncle  Eb." 

"  Showed  great  larnin'.     Who  was  the  man 
'at  give  out  the  pictur's  ?  " 
266 


Eben  Holden 

He  meant  the  president  who  had  conferred 
the  degrees.     I  spoke  the  name. 

"  Deceivin'  lookin'  man,  ain't  he?  Seen 
him  often,  but  never  took  no  pertick'lar  notice 
of  him  before." 

"How  deceiving?"  I  inquired. 

"  Talked  so  kind  of  plain,"  he  replied.  "  I 
could  understan'  him  as  easy  as  though  he'd 
been  swappin'  hosses.  But  when  you  got  up, 
Bill !  why,  you  jes'  riz  right  up  in  the  air  an' 
there  couldn't  no  dum  fool  tell  what  you  was 
talkin'  'bout." 

Whereat  I  concluded  that  Uncle  Eb's  humor 
was  as  deep  as  it  was  kindly,  but  I  have  never 
been  quite  sure  whether  the  remark  was  a  com- 
pliment or  a  bit  of  satire. 


267 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

The  folks  of  Faraway  have  been  carefully  if 
rudely  pictured,  but  the  look  of  my  own  person, 
since  I  grew  to  the  stature  of  manhood,  I  have 
left  wholly  to  the  imagination  of  the  reader. 
I  will  wager  he  knew  long  since  what  manner 
of  man  I  was  and  has  measured  me  to  the  frac- 
tion of  an  inch,  and  knows  even  the  color  of 
my  hair  and  eyes  from  having  been  so  long  in 
my  company.  If  not — well,  I  shall  have  to 
write  him  a  letter. 

When  Uncle  Eb  and  I  took  the  train  for  New 
York  that  summer  day  in  i860,  some  fifteen 
years  after  we  came  down  Paradise  road  with 
the  dog  and  wagon  and  pack  basket,  my  head, 
which,  in  that  far  day,  came  only  to  the  latitude 
of  his  trouser  pocket,  had  now  mounted  six 
inches  above  his  own-.  That  is  all  I  can  say 
here  on  that  branch  of  my  subject.  I  was 
leaving  to  seek  my  fortune  in  the  big  city; 
Uncle  Eb  was  off  for  a  holiday  and  to  see  Hope 
and  bring  her  home  for  a  short  visit.  I  re- 
member with  what  sadness  I  looked  back  that 
268 


Eben  Holden 

morning  at  mother  and  father  as  they  stood 
by  the  gate  slowly  waving  their  handkerchiefs. 
Our  home  at  last  was  emptied  of  its  young,  and 
even  as  they  looked  the  shadow  of  old  age  must 
have  fallen  suddenly  before  them.  I  knew 
how  they  would  go  back  into  that  lonely  room 
and  how,  while  the  clock  went  on  with  its  tick- 
ing, Elizabeth  would  sit  down  and  cover  her 
face  a  moment,  while  David  would  make  haste 
to  take  up  his  chores. 

We  sat  in  silence  a  long  time  after  the  train 
was  off,  a  mighty  sadness  holding  our  tongues. 
Uncle  Eb,  who  had  never  ridden  a  long  jour- 
ney on  the  cars  before,  had  put  on  his  grand 
suit  of  broadcloth.  The  day  was  hot  and  dusty, 
and  before  we  had  gone  far  he  was  sadly  soiled. 
But  a  suit  never  gave  him  any  worry,  once  it 
was  on.  He  sat  calmly,  holding  his  knee  in 
his  hands  and  looking  out  of  the  open  window, 
a  squint  in  his  eyes  that  stood  for  some  high 
degree  of  interest  in  the  scenery. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  this  country  ?  "  I  in- 
quired. 

"  Looks  purty  fair,"  said  he,  as  he  brushed 
his  face  with  his  handkerchief  and  coughed  to 
clear  his  throat  of  the  dust,  "  but  'tain't  quite  so 
pleasant  to  the  taste  as  some  other  parts  o'  the 
country.  I  ruther  liked  the  flavor  of  Saint  Law- 
269 


Eben  Holden 

rence  all  through,  but  Jefferson  is  a  leetle 
gritty." 

He  put  down  the  window  as  he  spoke. 

"  A  leetle  tobaccer'll  improve  it  some,"  he 
added,  as  his  hand  went  down  for  the  old  sil- 
ver box.  "  The  way  these  cars  dew  rip  along ! 
Consarned  if  it  ain't  like  flyin' !  Kind  o' 
makes  me  feel  like  a  bird." 

The  railroad  was  then  not  the  familiar  thing 
it  is  now  in  the  north  country.  The  bull  in  the 
fields  had  not  yet  come  to  an  understanding  of 
its  rights,  and  was  frequently  tempted  into  ar- 
gument with  a  locomotive.  Bill  Fountain,  who 
came  out  of  a  back  township,  one  day  had  even 
tied  his  faithful  hound  to  the  rear  platform. 

Our  train  came  to  a  long  stop  for  wood  and 
water  near  midday,  and  then  we  opened  the 
lunch  basket  that  mother  had  given  us. 

"  Neighbor,"  said  a  solemn  faced  man,  who 
sat  in  front  of  us,  "  do  you  think  the  cars  are 
ag'in  the  Bible?  D'  you  think  a  Christian  orter 
ride  on  'em?  " 

"  Sartin,"  said  Uncle  Eb.  "  Less  the  con- 
stable's after  him — then  I  think  he  orter  be  on 
a  balky  hoss." 

"  Wife'n  I  hes  talked  it  over  a  good  deal," 
said  the  man.     "  Some  says  it's  ag'in  the  Bible. 


270 


Eben  Holden 

The  minister  'at  preaches  over  'n  our  neighbor- 
hood says  if  God  hed  wanted  men  t'  fly  he'd 
g'in  'em  wings." 

"  S'pose  if  he'd  ever  wanted  'm  t'  skate  he'd 
hed  'em  born  with  skates  on  ?  "  said  Uncle  Eb. 

"  Dunno,"  said  the  man.  "  It  behooves  us 
all  to  be  careful.  The  Bible  says  '  Go  not  after 
new  things.'  " 

"  My  friend,"  said  Uncle  Eb,  between  bites 
of  a  doughnut,  "  I  don'  care  what  I  ride  in  so 
long  as  'tain't  a  hearse.  I  want  sumthin'  'at's 
comfortable  an'  purty  middlin'  spry.  It'll  do  us 
good  up  here  t'  git  jerked  a  few  hunderd  miles 
an'  back  ev'ry  leetle  while.  Keep  our  j'ints 
limber.  We'll  live  longer  fer  it,  an'  thet'll 
please  God  sure — cuz  I  don't  think  he's  hank- 
erin'  fer  our  society — not  a  bit.  Don'  make  no 
difference  t'  him  whuther  we  ride  'n  a  spring 
wagon  er  on  the  cars  so  long's  we're  right  side 
up  '  n  movin'.  We  need  more  steam  ;  we're  too 
dum  slow.  Kind  o'  think  a  leetle  more  steam 
in  our  religion  wouldn't  hurt  us  a  bit.  It's 
purty  fur  behind." 

We  got  to  Albany  in  the  evening,  just  in 
time  for  the  night  boat.  Uncle  Eb  was  a  sight 
in  his  dusty  broadcloth,  when  we  got  off"  the 
cars,  and  I  know  my  appearance  could  not  have 


271 


Eben  Holden 

been  prepossessing.  Once  we  were  aboard  the 
boat  and  had  dusted  our  clothes  and  bathed  our 
hands  and  faces  we   were  in  better  spirits. 

"  Consarn  it!  "  said  Uncle  Eb,  as  we  left  the 
wash  room,  "  le's  have  a  dum  good  supper. 
I'll  stan'  treat." 

"  Comes  a  leetle  bit  high,"  he  said,  as  he 
paid  the  bill,  "  but  I  don'  care  if  it  does.  'Fore 
we  left  I  says  t'  myself,  '  Uncle  Eb,'says  I,  'you 
go  right  in  fer  a  good  time  an'  don'  ye  count 
the  pennies.  Everybody's  a  right  t'  be  reck- 
less once  in  seventy-five  year.'  " 

We  went  to  our  stateroom  a  little  after  nine. 
I  remember  the  berths  had  not  been  made  up, 
and  removing  our  boots  and  coats  we  lay  down 
upon  the  bare  mattresses.  Even  then  I  had  a 
lurking  fear  that  we  might  be  violating  some 
rule  of  steamboat  etiquette.  When  I  went  to 
New  York  before  I  had  dozed  all  night  in  the 
big  cabin. 

A  dim  light  came  through  the  shuttered  door 
that  opened  upon  the  dining  saloon  where  the 
rattle  of  dishes  for  a  time  put  away  the  possi- 
bility of  sleep. 

"  I'll  be  awful  glad  t'  see  Hope,"  said  Uncle 
Eb,  as  he  lay  gaping. 

"  Guess  I'll  be  happier  to  see  her  than  she  will 
to  see  me,"  I  said. 

272 


Eben   Holden 

"  What  put  that  in  yer  head  ?  "  Uncle  Eb  in- 
quired. 

"  'Fraid  we've  got  pretty  far  apart,"  said  I. 

"  Shame  on  ye,  Bill,"  said  the  old  gentleman. 
"  If  thet's  so  ye  ain't  done  right.  Hedn't  orter 
let  a  girl  like  thet  git  away  from  ye — th'  ain't 
another  like  her  in  this  world." 

"  I  know  it,"  I  said,  "  but  I  can't  help  it. 
Somebody's  cut  me  out,  Uncle  Eb." 

"  'Tain't  so,"  said  he  emphatically.  "  Ye 
want  t'  prance  right  up  t'  her." 

"  I'm  not  afraid  of  any  woman,"  I  said,  with 
a  great  air  of  bravery,  "  but  if  she  don't  care  for 
me  I  ought  not  to  throw  myself  at  her." 

"  Jerusalem !  "  said  Uncle  Eb,  rising  up  sud- 
denly, "  what  hev  I  gone  an'  done?  " 

He  jumped  out  of  his  berth  quickly  and  in 
the  dim  light  I  could  see  him  reaching  for  sev- 
eral big  sheets  of  paper  adhering  to  the  back  of 
his  shirt  and  trousers.  I  went  quickly  to  his 
assistance  and  began  stripping  off  the  broad 
sheets  which,  covered  with  some  strongly  ad- 
hesive substance,  had  laid  a  firm  hold  upon 
him.     I  rang  the  bell  and  ordered  a  light. 

"  Consarn  it  all!  What  be  they — plasters ?" 
said  Uncle  Eb,  quite  out  of  patience. 

"  Pieces    of  brown    paper,    covered    with — 
West  India  molasses,  I  should  think,"  said  I. 
273 


Eben  Holden 

"  West  Injy  molasses !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  By 
mighty!  That  makes  me  hotter'n  a  pancake. 
What's  it  on  the  bed  fer?  " 

"  To  catch  flies,"  I  answered. 

"  An'  ketched  me,"  said  Uncle  Eb,  as  he 
flung  the  sheet  he  was  examining  into  a  corner. 
"  My  extry  good  suit,  too !  " 

He  took  off  his  trousers,  then,  holding  them 
up  to  the  light. 

"  They're  spilt,"  said  he  mournfully.  "  Hed 
'em  fer  more'n  ten  year,  too." 

"  That's  long  enough,"  I  suggested. 

"  Got  kind  o'  'tached  to  'em,"  he  said,  look- 
ing down  at  them  and  rubbing  his  chin  thought- 
fully.    Then  we  had  a  good  laugh. 

"  You  can  put  on  the  other  suit/'I  suggested, 
"  and  when  we  get  to  the  city  we'll  have  these 
fixed." 

"  Leetle  sorry,  though,"  said  he,  "  cuz  that 
other  suit  don'  look  reel  grand.  This  here  one 
has  been  purty — purty  scrumptious  in  its  day 
— if  I  do  say  it." 

"  You  look  good  enough  in  anything  that's 
respectable,"  I  said. 

"  Kind  o'  wanted  to  look  a  leetle  extry  good, 

as  ye  might  say,"  said  Uncle  Eb,  groping  in  his 

big  carpet  bag.     "  Hope,  she's  terrible  proud, 

an'  if  they  should  hev  a  leetle  fiddlin'  an'  dan- 

274 


Eben   Holden 

tin'  some  night  we'd  want  t'  be  as  stylish  as  any 
on  'em.  B'lieve  I'll  go'n  git  me  a  spang,  bran' 
new  suit,  anyway,  'fore  we  go  up  t'  Fuller's." 

As  we  neared  the  city  we  both  began  feeling 
a  bit  doubtful  as  to  whether  we  were  quite 
ready  for  the  ordeal. 

"  I  ought  to,"  I  said.  "  Those  I'm  wearing 
aren't  quite  stylish  enough,  I'm  afraid." 

"  They're  han'some,"  said  Uncle  Eb,  looking 
up  over  his  spectacles,  "  but  mebbe  they  ain't 
just  as  splendid  as  they'd  orter  be.  How  much 
money  did  David  give  ye?  " 

"  One  hundred  and  fifty  dollars,"  I  said, 
thinking  it  a  very  grand  sum  indeed. 

"  'Tam't  enough,"  said  Uncle  Eb,  looking 
up  at  me  again.  "  Leastways  not  if  ye're  goin' 
t'  hev  a  new  suit.  I  want  ye  t'  be  spick  an' 
span." 

He  picked  up  his  trousers  then,  and  took  out 
his  fat  leather  wallet. 

"  Lock  the  door,"  he  whispered. 

"  Pop  goes  the  weasel !  "  he  exclaimed,  good 
naturedly,  and  then  he  began  counting  the  bills. 

"  I'm  not  going  to  take  any  more  of  your 
money,  Uncle  Eb."  I  said. 

"  Tut,  tut!  "  said  he,  "  don't  ye  try  t'  inter- 
fere.    What  d'  ye  think  they'll  charge  in  the 
city  fer  a  reel,  splendid  suit?" 
275 


Eben   Holden 

He  stopped  and  looked  up  at  me. 

"  Probably  as  much  as  fifty  dollars,"  I  an- 
swered. 

"  Whew-w-w !  "  he  whistled.  "  Purty  steep ! 
It  is  sartin." 

"  Let  me  go  as  I  am,"  said  I.  "  Time  enough 
to  have  a  new  suit  when  I've  earned  it." 

"  Wall,"  he  said,  as  he  continued  counting, 
"  I  guess  you've  earnt  it  already.  Ye've  studied 
hard  an'  tuk  first  honors  an'  yer  goin'  where 
folks  are  purty  middlin'  proud'n  haughty.  I 
want  ye  t'  be  a  reg'lar  high  stepper,  with  a 
nice,  slick  coat.  There,"  he  whispered,  as  he 
handed  me  the  money,  "  take  thet !  An'  don't 
ye  never  tell  'at  I  g'in  it  t'  ye." 

I  could  not  speak  for  a  little  while,  as  I  took 
the  money,  for  thinking  of  the  many,  many 
things  this  grand  old  man  had  done  for  me. 

"  Do  ye  think  these  boots  '11  do?  "  he  asked, 
as  he  held  up  to  the  light  the  pair  he  had  taken 
orr"  in  the  evening. 

"  They  look  all  right,"  I  said. 

"  Ain't  got  no  decent  squeak  to  'em  now,  an' 
they  seem  t'  look  kind  o'  clumsy.  How're 
your'n  ?  "  he  asked. 

I  got  them  out  from  under  the  berth  and  we 
inspected  them  carefully  deciding  in  the  end 
they  would  pass  muster. 
276 


Eben  Holden 

The  steward  had  made  up  our  berths,  when 
he  came,  and  lit  our  room  for  us.  Our  feverish 
discussion  of  attire  had  carried  us  far  past  mid- 
night, when  we  decided  to  go  to  bed. 

"  S'pose  we  mustn't  talk  t'  no  strangers  there 
'n  New  York,"  said  Uncle  Eb,  as  he  lay  down. 
"  I've  read  'n  the  Tribune  how  they'll  purtend 
t'  be  friends  an'  then  grab  yer  money  an'  run 
like  Sam  Hill.  If  I  meet  any  o'  them  fellers 
they're  goin'  t'  find  me  purty  middlin'  poor 
comp'ny." 

We  were  up  and  on  deck  at  daylight,  view- 
ing the  Palisades.  The  lonely  feeling  of  an  alien 
hushed  us  into  silence  as  we  came  to  the  noisy 
and  thickening  river  craft  at  the  upper  end  of 
the  city.  Countless  window  panes  were  shin- 
ing in  the  morning  sunlight.  This  thought 
was  in  my  mind  that  somewhere  in  the  in- 
numerable host  on  either  side  was  the  one 
dearer  to  me  than  any  other.  We  inquired  our 
way  at  the  dock  and  walked  to  French's  Hotel, 
on  Printing  House  Square.  After  breakfast  we 
went  and  ordered  all  the  grand  new  things  we 
had  planned  to  get.  They  would  not  be  ready 
for  two  days,  and  after  talking  it  over  we  de- 
cided to  go  and  make  a  short  call. 

Hope,  who  had  been  up  and  looking  for  us, 
a  long  time,  gave  us  a  greeting  so  hearty  we 
277 


Eben  Hoi  den 

began  to  get  the  first  feeling  of  comfort  since 
landing.  She  was  put  out  about  our  having 
had  breakfast,  I  remember,  and  said  we  must 
have  our  things  brought  there  at  once. 

"  I  shall  have  to  stay  at  the  hotel  awhile,"  I 
said,  thinking  of  the  new  clothes. 

"  Why,"  said  Mrs.  Fuller,  "  this  girl  has 
been  busy  a  week  fixing  your  rooms  and  plan- 
ning for  you.  We  could  not  hear  of  your 
going  elsewhere.  It  would  be  downright  in- 
gratitude to  her." 

A  glow  of  red  came  into  the  cheeks  of  Hope 
that  made  me  ashamed  of  my  remark.  I 
thought  she  looked  lovelier  in  her  pretty  blue 
morning  gown,  covering  a  broad  expanse  of 
crinoline,  than  ever  before. 

"  And  you've  both  got  to  come  and  hear  me 
sing  to-night  at  the  church,"  said  she.  "  I 
wouldn't  have  agreed  to  sing  if  I  had  not 
thought  you  were  to  be  here." 

We  made  ourselves  at  home,  as  we  were 
most  happy  to  do,  and  that  afternoon  I  went 
down  town  to  present  to  Mr.  Greeley  the  letter 
that  David  Brower  had  given  me. 


278 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

I  came  down  Broadway  that  afternoon 
aboard  a  big  white  omnibus,  that  drifted  slowly 
in  a  tide  of  many  vehicles.  Those  days  there 
were  a  goodly  show  of  trees  on  either  side  of 
that  thoroughfare — elms,  with  here  and  there 
a  willow,  a  sumach  or  a  mountain  ash.  The 
walks  were  thronged  with  handsome  people — 
dandies  with  high  hats  and  flaunting  neckties 
and  swinging  canes — beautiful  women,  each 
coveringa  broadcircumferenceof  the  pavement, 
with  a  cone  of  crinoline  that  swayed  over 
dainty  feet.  From  Grace  Church  down  it  was 
much  of  the  same  thing  we  see  now,  with  a 
more  ragged  sky  line.  Many  of  the  great 
buildings,  of  white  and  red  sandstone,  had  then 
appeared,  but  the  street  was  largely  in  the  pos- 
session of  small  shops — oyster  houses,  book- 
stores and  the  like.  Not  until  I  neared  the 
sacred  temple  of  the  Tribune  did  I  feel  a  proper 
sense  of  my  own  littleness.  There  was  the 
fountain  of  all  that  wisdom  which  had  been 
read  aloud  and  heard  with  reverence  in  our 
household  since  a  time  I  could  but  dimly  re- 
279 


Eben  Holden 

member.  There  sat  the  prophet  who  had 
given  us  so  much — his  genial  views  of  life  and 
government,  his  hopes,  his  fears,  his  mighty 
wrath  at  the  prospering  of  cruelty  and  in- 
justice. 

"  I  would  like  to  see  Mr.  Horace  Greeley," 
I  said,  rather  timidly,  at  the  counter. 

"  Walk  right  up  those  stairs  and  turn  to 
the  left,"  said  a  clerk,  as  he  opened  a  gate  for 
me. 

Ascending,  I  met  a  big  man  coming  down, 
hurriedly,  and  with  heavy  steps.  We  stood 
dodging  each  other  a  moment  with  that  un- 
fortunate co-ordination  of  purpose  men  some- 
times encounter  when  passing  each  other.  Sud- 
denly the  big  man  stopped  in  the  middle  of  the 
stairway  and  held  both  of  his  hands  above  his 
head. 

"In  God's  name!  young  man,"  said  he, 
"  take  your  choice." 

He  spoke  in  a  high,  squeaky  voice  that  cut 
me  with  the  sharpness  of  its  irritation.  I  went 
on  past  him  and  entered  an  open  door  near  the 
top  of  the  stairway. 

"  Is  Mr.  Horace  Greeley  in  ?  "  I  inquired  of  a 
young  man  who  sat  reading  papers. 

"  Back  soon,"  said  he,  without  looking  up. 
"  Take  a  chair." 


Eben  Holden 

In  a  little  while  I  heard  the  same  heavy  feet 
ascending  the  stairway  two  steps  at  a  time. 
Then  the  man  I  had  met  came  hurriedly  into 
the  room. 

"  This  is  Mr.  Greeley,"  said  the  young  man 
who  was  reading. 

The  great  editor  turned  and  looked  at  me 
through  gold  rimmed  spectacles.  I  gave  him 
my  letter  out  of  a  trembling  hand.  He  re- 
moved it  from  the  envelope  and  held  it  close  to 
his  big,  kindly,  smooth-shaven  face.  There 
was  a  fringe  of  silky,  silver  hair,  streaked  with 
yellow,  about  the  lower  part  of  his  head  from 
temple  to  temple.  It  also  encircled  his  throat 
from  under  his  collar.  His  cheeks  were  full 
and  fair  as  a  lady's,  with  rosy  spots  in  them 
and  a  few  freckles  about  his  nose.  He  laughed 
as  he  finished  reading  the  letter. 

"Are  you  Dave  Brower's  boy?"  he  asked 
in  a  drawling  falsetto,  looking  at  me  out  of 
grey  eyes  and  smiling  with  good  humor. 

"  By  adoption,"  I  answered. 

"  He  was  an  almighty  good  rassler,"  he  said, 
deliberately,  as  he  looked  again  at  the  letter. 

"What  do  you  want  to  do?"  he  asked 
abruptly. 

"  Want  to  work  on  the  Tribune,"  I  an- 
swered. 

281 


Eben   Holden 

"Good  Lord!"  he  said.  "I  can't  hire 
everybody." 

I  tried  to  think  of  some  argument,  but  what 
with  looking  at  the  great  man  before  me,  and 
answering  his  questions  and  maintaining  a  de- 
cent show  of  dignity,  I  had  enough  to  do. 

"  Do  you  read  the  Tribune  f  "  he  asked. 

"  Read  it  ever  since  I  can  remember." 

"  What  do  you  think  of  the  administra- 
tion?" 

"  Lot  of  dough  faces !  "  I  answered,  smiling, 
as  I  saw  he  recognized  his  own  phrase.  He 
sat  a  moment  tapping  the  desk  with  his  pen- 
holder. 

"  There's  so  many  liars  here  in  New  York," 
he  said,  "  there  ought  to  be  room  for  an  honest 
man.     How  are  the  crops  ?  " 

"  Fair,"  I  answered.  "  Big  crop  of  boys 
every  year." 

"  And  now  you're  trying  to  find  a  market," 
he  remarked. 

"  Want  to  have  you  try  them,"  I  answered. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  very  seriously,  turning  to 
his  desk  that  came  up  to  his  chin  as  he  sat  be- 
side it,  "  go  and  write  me  an  article  about  rats." 

"  Would  you  advise  — ,"  I  started  to  say, 
when  he  interrupted  me. 

"  The  man  that  gives  advice  is  a  bigger  fool 


Eben   Holden 

than  the  man  that  takes  it,"  he  fleered  impa- 
tiently.    "Go  and  do  your  best!" 

Before  he  had  given  me  this  injunction  he 
had  dipped  his  pen  and  begun  to  write  hur- 
riedly. If  I  had  known  him  longer  I  should 
have  known  that,  while  he  had  been  talking  to 
me,  that  tireless  mind  of  his  had  summoned 
him  to  its  service.  I  went  out,  in  high  spirits, 
and  sat  down  a  moment  on  one  of  the  benches 
in  the  little  park  near  by,  to  think  it  all  over. 
He  was  going  to  measure  my  judgment,  my 
skill  as  a  writer — my  resources.  "  Rats,"  I 
said  to  myself  thoughtfully.  I  had  read  much 
about  them.  They  infested  the  ships,  they 
overran  the  wharves,  they  traversed  the  sewers. 
An  inspiration  came  to  me.  I  started  for  the 
water  front,  asking  my  way  every  block  or 
two.  Near  the  East  River  I  met  a  policeman 
— a  big,  husky,  good  hearted  Irishman. 

"  Can  you  tell  me,"  I  said,  "  who  can  give 
me  information  about  rats?" 

"  Rats  ?  "  he  repeated.  "  What  d'  ye  wan' t' 
know  about  thim?" 

"  Everything,"  I  said.  "  They've  just  given 
me  a  job  on  the  New  York  Tribune,"  I  added 
proudly. 

He  smiled  good  naturedly.     He  had  looked 
through  me  at  a  glance. 
283 


Eben  Holden 

"  Just  say  '  Tribune,'  "  he  said.  "  Ye  don't 
have  t'  say  '  New  York  Tribune  '  here.  Come 
along  wi'  me." 

He  took  me  to  a  dozen  or  more  of  the  dock 
masters. 

"  Give  'im  a  lift,  my  hearty,"  he  said  to  the 
first  of  them.     "  He's  a  green  hand." 

I  have  never  forgotten  the  kindness  of  that 
Irishman,  whom  I  came  to  know  well  in  good 
time.  Remembering  that  day  and  others  I  al- 
ways greeted  him  with  a  hearty  "  God  bless  the 
Irish!  "  every  time  I  passed  him,  and  he  would 
answer,  "  Amen,  an'  save  yer  riverince." 

He  did  not  leave  me  until  I  was  on  my  way 
home  loaded  with  fact  and  fable  and  good  dia- 
lect with  a  savor  of  the  sea  in  it. 

Hope  and  Uncle  Eb  were  sitting  together  in 
his  room  when  I  returned. 

"  Guess  I've  got  a  job,"  I  said,  trying  to  be 
very  cool  about  it. 

"A  job!"  said  Hope  eagerly,  as  she  rose. 
"Where?" 

"  With  Mr.  Horace  Greeley,"  I  answered, 
my  voice  betraying  my  excitement. 

"  Jerusalem !  "  said  Uncle  Eb.  "  Is  it  pos- 
sible?" 

"That's  grand!"  said  Hope.  "Tell  us 
about  it." 

284 


Eben  Holden 

Then  I  told  them  of  my  interview  with  the 
great  editor  and  of  what  I  had  done  since. 

"  Ye  done  wonderful !  "said  Uncle  Eb  and 
Hope  showed  quite  as  much  pleasure  in  her 
own  sweet  way. 

I  was  for  going  to  my  room  and  beginning 
to  write  at  once,  but  Hope  said  it  was  time  to 
be  getting  ready  for  dinner. 

When  we  came  down  at  half  after  six  we 
were  presented  to  our  host  and  the  guests  of 
the  evening — handsome  men  and  women  in 
full  dress — and  young  Mr.  Livingstone  was 
among  them.  I  felt  rather  cheap  in  my  frock 
coat,  although  I  had  thought  it  grand  enough 
for  anybody  on  the  day  of  my  graduation. 
Dinner  announced,  the  gentlemen  rose  and 
offered  escort  to  the  ladies,  and  Hope  and 
Mrs.  Fuller  relieved  our  embarrassment  by 
conducting  us  to  our  seats — women  are  so  deft 
in  those  little  difficulties.  The  dinner  was 
not  more  formal  than  that  of  every  evening  in 
the  Fuller  home — for  its  master  was  a  rich  man 
of  some  refinement  of  taste — and  not  at  all 
comparable  to  the  splendid  hospitality  one  may 
see  every  day  at  the  table  of  a  modern  million- 
aire. But  it  did  seem  very  wonderful  to  us, 
then,  with  its  fine  mannered  servants,  its  flow- 
ers, its  abundant  silver.  Hope  had  written 
285 


Eben  Holden 

much  to  her  mother  of  the  details  of  deport- 
ment at  John  Fuller's  table,  and  Elizabeth  had 
delicately  imparted  to  us  the  things  we  ought  to 
know.  We  behaved  well,  I  have  since  been 
told,  although  we  got  credit  for  poorer  appe- 
tites than  we  possessed.  Uncle  Eb  took  no 
chances  and  refused  everything  that  had  a  look 
of  mystery  and  a  suggestion  of  peril,  dropping 
a  droll  remark,  betimes,  that  sent  a  ripple  of 
amusement  around  the  table. 

John  Trumbull  sat  opposite  me,  and  even 
then  I  felt  a  curious  interest  in  him — a  big, 
full  bearded  man,  quite  six  feet  tall,  his  skin  and 
eyes  dark,  his  hair  iron-gray,  his  voice  deep 
like  David's.  I  could  not  get  over  the  impres- 
sion that  I  had  seen  him  before — a  feeling  I 
have  had  often,  facing  men  I  could  never  pos- 
sibly have  met.  No  word  came  out  of  his  firm 
mouth  unless  he  were  addressed,  and  then  all 
in  hearing  listened  to  the  little  he  had  to  say :  it 
was  never  more  than  some  very  simple  remark. 
In  his  face  and  form  and  voice  there  was  abun- 
dant heraldry  of  rugged  power  and  ox-like  vi- 
tality. I  have  seen  a  bronze  head  of  Daniel 
Webster  which,  with  a  full  blonde  beard  and  an 
ample  covering  of  grey  hair  would  have  given 
one  a  fairly  perfect  idea  of  the  look  of  John 


286 


Eben  Holden 

Trumbull.  Imagine  it  on  a  tall,  and  powerful 
body  and  let  it  speak  with  a  voice  that  has  in  it 
the  deep  and  musical  vibration  one  may  hear  in 
the  looing  of  an  ox  and  you  shall  see,  as  per- 
fectly as  my  feeble  words  can  help  you  to  do, 
this  remarkable  man  who,  must,  hereafter,  play 
before  you  his  part — compared  to  which  mine 
is  as  the  prattle  of  a  child — in  this  drama  of 
God's  truth. 

"  You  have  not  heard,"  said  Mrs.  Fuller  ad- 
dressing me,  "  how  Mr.  Trumbull  saved  Hope's 
life.  " 

"  Saved  Hope's  life!  "  I  exclaimed. 

"  Saved  her  life,"  she  repeated,  "  there  isn't 
a  doubt  of  it.  We  never  sent  word  of  it  for 
fear  it  would  give  you  all  needless  worry.  It 
was  a  day  of  last  winter — fell  crossing  Broad- 
way, a  dangerous  place — he  pulled  her  aside 
just  in  time — the  horse's  feet  were  raised  above 
her — she  would  have  been  crushed  in  a  mo- 
ment. He  lifted  her  in  his  arms  and  carried 
her  to  the  sidewalk  not  a  bit  the  worse  for  it." 

"  Seems  as  if  it  were  fate,"  said  Hope.  "  I 
had  seen  him  so  often  and  wondered  who  he 
was.  I  recall  a  night  when  I  had  to  come  home 
alone  from  rehearsal.  I  was  horribly  afraid.  I 
remember  passing  him  under  a  street  lamp.     If 


287 


Eben  Holden 

he  had  spoken  to  me,  then,  I  should  have  drop- 
ped with  fear  and  he  would  have  had  to  carry 
me  home  that  time." 

"  It's  an  odd  thing  a  girl  like  you  should  ever 
have  to  walk  home  alone,"  said  Mr.  Fuller. 
"  Doesn't  speak  well  for  our  friend  Living- 
stone or  Burnham  there  or  Dobbs." 

"  Mrs.  Fuller  doesn't  give  us  half  a  chance," 
said  Livingstone,  "  she  guards  her  day  and 
night.  It's  like  the  monks  and  the  Holy 
Grail." 

"  Hope  is  independent  of  the  young  men," 
said  Mrs.  Fuller  as  we  rose  from  the  table. 
"  If  I  cannot  go  with  her  myself,  in  the  car- 
riage, I  always  send  a  maid  or  a  man  servant  to 
walk  home  with  her.  But  Mr.  Fuller  and  I 
were  out  of  town  that  night  and  the  young  men 
missed  their  great  opportunity." 

"  Had  a  differ'nt  way  o'  sparkin'  years  ago," 
said  Uncle  Eb,  "  Didn't  never  hev  t'  please  any 
body  but  the  girl  then.  If  ye  liked  a  girl  ye 
went  an'  sot  up  with  her  an'  gin  her  a  smack  an' 
tol'  her  right  out  plain  an'  square  what  ye 
wanted.  An'  thet  settled  it  one  way  er  t'other. 
An'  her  mother  she  slep'  in  the  next  room  with 
the  door  half  open  an'  never  paid  no  'tention. 
Recollec'  one  col'  night  when  I  was  sparkin' 
the  mother  hollered  out  o'  bed  '  Lucy,  hev  ye 


Eben   Holden 

got  anythin'  'round  ye  ? '  an'  she  hollered  back, 
'  Yis,  mother,'  an'  she  hed  too  but  'twan't  no  th- 
in' but  my  arm." 

They  laughed  merrily,  over  the  quaint  rem- 
iniscence of  my  old  friend  and  the  quainter  way 
he  had  of  telling  it.  The  rude  dialect  of  the 
backwoodsman  might  have  seemed  oddly  out  of 
place,  there,  but  for  the  quiet,  unassuming  man- 
ner and  the  fine  old  face  of  Uncle  Eb  in  which 
the  dullest  eye  might  see  the  soul  of  a  gentle- 
man. 

"What  became  of  Lucy?"  Mr.  Fuller  in- 
quired, laughingly,  "  You  never  married  her." 

"Lucy  died,"  he  answered  soberly;  "thet 
was  long,  long  ago." 

Then  he  went  away  with  John  Trumbull  to 
the  smoking  room  where  I  found  them,  talking 
earnestly  in  a  corner,  when  it  was  time  to  go 
to  the  church  with  Hope. 


289 


CHAPTER  XXX 

Hope  and  Uncle  Eb  and  I  went  away  in  a 
coach  with  Mrs.  Fuller.  There  was  a  great 
crowd  in  the  church  that  covered,  with  sweep- 
ing arches,  an  interior  more  vast  than  any  I 
had  ever  entered.  Hope  was  gowned  in  white 
silk,  a  crescent  of  diamonds  in  her  hair — a 
birthday  gift  from  Mrs.  Fuller;  her  neck  and  a 
part  of  her  full  breast  unadorned  by  anything 
save  the  gifts  of  God — their  snowy  whiteness, 
their  lovely  curves. 

First  Henry  Cooper  came  on  with  his  violin 
— a  great  master  as  I  now  remember  him.  Then 
Hope  ascended  to  the  platform,  her  dainty  kid 
slippers  showing  under  her  gown,  and  the 
odious  Livingstone  escorting  her.  I  was  never 
so  madly  in  love  or  so  insanely  jealous.  I  must 
confess  it  for  I  am  trying  to  tell  the  whole  truth 
of  myself — I  was  a  fool.  And  it  is  the  greater 
folly  that  one  says  ever  "  I  was,"  and  never  "  I 
am  "  in  that  plea.  I  could  even  see  it  myself 
then  and  there,  but  I  was  so  great  a  fool  I  smiled 
and  spoke  fairly  to  the  young  man  although  I 
290 


Eben   Holden 

could  have  wrung  his  neck  with  rage.  There 
was  a  little  stir  and  a  passing  whisper  in  the 
crowd  as  she  stood  waiting  for  the  prelude. 
Then  she  sang  the  ballad  of  Auld  Robin  Grey — ■ 
not  better  than  I  had  heard  her  sing  it  before, 
but  so  charmingly  there  were  murmurs  of  de- 
light going  far  and  wide  in  the  audience  when 
she  had  finished.  Then  she  sang  the  fine 
melody  of  "  Angels  ever  Bright  and  Fair,"  and 
again  the  old  ballad  she  and  I  had  heard  first 
from  the  violin  of  poor  Nick  Goodall. 

By  yon  bonnie  bank  an'  by  yon  bonnie  bonnie  brae 
The  sun  shines  bright  on  Loch  Lomond 

Where  me  an'  me  true  love  were  ever  wont  t'  gae 
On  the  bonnie,  bonnie  bank  o'  Loch  Lomond. 

Great  baskets  of  roses  were  handed  to  her  as 
she  came  down  from  the  platform  and  my  con- 
fusion was  multiplied  by  their  number  for  I  had 
not  thought  to  bring  any  myself. 

I  turned  to  Uncle  Eb  who,  now  and  then,  had 
furtively  wiped  his  eyes. 

"  My  stars !  "  he  whispered,  "  aint  it  ree- 
markable  grand!  Never  heard  ner  seen 
nothin'  like  thet  in  all  my  born  days.  An'  t' 
think  it's  my  little  Hope." 

He  could  go  no  further.  His  handkerchief 
was  in  his  hand  while  he  took  refuge  in  silence. 

Going  home  the  flowers  were  heaped  upon 
291 


Eben    Holden 

our  laps  and  I,  with  Hope  beside  me,  felt  some 
restoration  of  comfort. 

"Did  you  see  Trumbull?"  Mrs.  Fuller 
asked.  "  He  sat  back  of  us  and  did  seem  to 
enjoy  it  so  much — your  singing.  He  was  al- 
most cheerful." 

"  Tell  me  about  Mr.  Trumbull,"  I  said.  "  He 
is  interesting." 

"  Speculator,"  said  Mrs.  Fuller.  "  A  strange 
man,  successful,  silent,  unmarried  and,  I  think, 
in  love.  Has  beautiful  rooms  they  say  on 
Gramercy  Park.  Lives  alone  with  an  old 
servant.  We  got  to  know  him  through  the 
accident.  Mr.  Fuller  and  he  have  done  busi- 
ness together — a  great  deal  of  it  since  then. 
Operates  in  the  stock  market." 

A  supper  was  waiting  for  us  at  home  and  we 
sat  a  long  time  at  the  table.  I  was  burning  for 
a  talk  with  Hope  but  how  was  I  to  manage  it? 
We  rose  with  the  others  and  went  and  sat  down 
together  in  a  corner  of  the  great  parlor.  We 
talked  of  that  night  at  the  White  Church  in 
Faraway  when  we  heard  Nick  Goodall  play  and 
she  had  felt  the  beginning  of  a  new  life. 

"  I've  heard  how  well  you  did  last  year,"  she 
said,  "  and  how  nice  you  were  to  the  girls.     A 
friend  wrote  me  all  about  it.     How  attentive 
you  were  to  that  little  Miss  Brown !  " 
292 


Eben  Holden 

"  But  decently  polite,"  I  answered.  "  One 
has  to  have  somebody  or — or — be  a  monk." 

"One  has  to  have  somebody!"  she  said, 
quickly,  as  she  picked  at  the  flower  on  her 
bosom  and  looked  down  at  it  soberly.  "  That 
is  true  one  has  to  have  somebody  and,  you 
know,  I  haven't  had  any  lack  of  company  my- 
self.    By  the  way,  I  have  news  to  tell  you." 

She  spoke  slowly  and  in  a  low  voice  with  a 
touch  of  sadness  in  it.  I  felt  the  color  mount- 
ing to  my  face. 

"  News ! "  I  repeated.  "  What  news, 
Hope?" 

"  I  am  going  away  to  England,"  she  said, 
"  with  Mrs.  Fuller  if — if  mother  will  let  me. 
I  wish  you  would  write  and  ask  her  to  let  me 

go." 

I  was  unhorsed.  What  to  say  I  knew  not; 
what  it  meant  I  could  vaguely  imagine.  There 
was  a  moment  of  awkward  silence. 

"  Of  course  I  will  ask  her  if  you  wish  to  go," 
I  said.     "  When  do  you  sail  ?  " 

"  They  haven't  fixed  the  day  yet." 

She  sat  looking  down  at  her  fan,  a  beautiful, 
filmy  thing  between  braces  of  ivory.  Her 
knees  were  crossed,  one  dainty  foot  showing 
under  ruffles  of  lace.  I  looked  at  her  a  moment 
dumb  with  admiration. 
293 


Eben   Holden 

"  What  a  big  man  you  have  grown  to  be 
Will,"  she  said  presently.  "  I  am  almost 
afraid  of  you  now." 

She  was  still  looking  down  at  the  fan  and 
that  little  foot  was  moving  nervously.  Now 
was  my  time.  I  began  framing  an  avowal. 
I  felt  a  wild  impulse  to  throw  my  strong  arms 
about  her  and  draw  her  close  to  me  and  feel  the 
pink  velvet  of  her  fair  face  upon  mine.  If  I 
had  only  done  it !  But  what  with  the  strange- 
ness and  grandeur  of  that  big  room,  the  voices 
of  the  others  who  were  sitting  in  the  library, 
near  by,  the  mystery  of  the  spreading  crinoline 
that  was  pressing  upon  my  knees,  I  had  not  half 
the  courage  of  a  lover. 

"  My  friend  writes  me  that  you  are  in  love," 
she  said,  opening  her  fan  and  moving  it  slowly, 
as  she  looked  up  at  me. 

"  She  is  right  I  must  confess  it,"  I  said,  "  I 
am  madly,  hopelessly  in  love.  It  is  time  you 
knew  it  Hope  and  I  want  your  counsel." 

She  rose  quickly  and  turned  her  face  away. 

"  Do  not  tell  me — do  not  speak  of  it  again — 
I  forbid  you,"  she  answered  coldly. 

Then  she  stood  silent.  I  rose  to  take  her 
hand  and  ask  her  to  tell  me  why,  a  pretty 
rankling  in  my  heart.     Soft  footsteps  and  the 


294 


Eben  Holden 

swish  of  a  gown  were  approaching.  Before  I 
could  speak  Mrs.  Fuller  had  come  through  the 
doorway. 

"  Come  Hope,"  she  said,  "  I  cannot  let  you 
sit  up  late — you  are  worn  out,  my  dear." 

Then  Hope  bade  us  both  good-night  and 
went  away  to  her  room.  If  I  had  known  as 
much  about  women  then,  as  now,  I  should  have 
had  it  out,  with  short  delay,  to  some  under- 
standing between  us.  But  in  that  subject  one 
loves  and  learns.  And  one  thing  I  have  learned 
is  this  that  jealousy  throws  its  illusions  on 
every  word  and  look  and  act.  I  went  to  my 
room  and  sat  down  for  a  bit  of  reckoning. 
Hope  had  ceased  to  love  me,  I  felt  sure,  and 
how  was  I  to  win  her  back? 

After  all  my  castle  building  what  was  I  come 
to? 

I  heard  my  door  open  presently,  and  then  I 
lifted  my  head.  Uncle  Eb  stood  near  me  in  his 
stocking  feet  and  shirt  sleeves. 

"  In  trouble,"  he  whispered. 

"  In  trouble,"  I  said. 

"'Bout  Hope?" 

"  It's  about  Hope." 

"  Don't  be  hasty.  Hope'll  never  go  back  on 
you,"  he  whispered. 


295 


Eben   Hdlden 

"  She  doesn't  love  me,"  I  said  impulsively. 
"  She  doesn't  care  the  snap  of  her  ringer  for 
me." 

"  Don't  believe  it,"  he  answered  calmly. 
"  Not  a  single  word  of  it.  Thet  woman — she's 
tryin'  t'  keep  her  away  from  ye — but  'twon't 
make  no  differ'nce.     Not  a  bit." 

"  I  must  try  to  win  her  back — someway — 
somehow,"  I  whispered. 

"  Gi'n  ye  the  mitten  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  That's  about  it,"  I  answered,  going  possi- 
bly too  far  in  the  depth  of  my  feeling. 

"  Whew-w !  "  he  softly  whistled.  "  Wall,  it 
takes  two  mittens  t'  make  a  pair — ye'll  hev  t' 
ask  her  ag'in." 

"  Yes  I  cannot  give  her  up,"  I  said  decisively, 
"  I  must  try  to  win  her  back.  It  isn't  fair.  I 
have  no  claim  upon  her.     But  I  must  do  it." 

"  Consarn  it !  women  like  t'  be  chased,"  he 
said.  "  It's  their  natur'.  What  do  they 
fix  up  so  fer — di'mon's  an'  silks  an'  satins — 
if  'taint  t'  set  men  a  chasin'  uv  'em?  You'd 
orter  enjoy  it.  Stick  to  her — jes'  like  a  puppy 
to  a  root.     Thet's  my  advice." 

"  Hope  has  got  too  far  ahead  of  me,"  I  said. 

"  She   can   marry   a   rich   man    if   she  wishes 

to,  and  I  don't  see  why  she  shouldn't.     What 

am  I,  anyhow,  but  a  poor  devil  just  out  of  col- 

296 


Eben  Holden 

lege  and  everything  to  win  ?  It  makes  me  mis- 
erable to  think  here  in  this  great  house  how 
small  I  am." 

"  There's  things  goin'  t'  happen,"  Uncle  Eb 
whispered,  "  I  can't  tell  ye  what  er  when  but 
they're  goin'  t'  happen  an'  they're  goin'  t' 
change  everything." 

We  sat  thinking  a  while  then.  I  knew  what 
he  meant — that  I  was  to  conquer  the  world, 
somehow,  and  the  idea  seemed  to  me  so  absurd 
I  could  hardly  help  laughing  as  melancholy  as 
I  felt. 

"  Now  you  go  t'  bed,"  he  said,  rising  and 
gently  touching  my  head  with  his  hand. 
"  There's  things  goin'  t'  happen,  boy — take  my 
word  fer  it." 

I  got  in  bed  late  at  night  but  there  was  no 
sleep  for  me.  In  the  still  hours  I  lay  quietly, 
planning  my  future,  for  now  I  must  make  my- 
self worth  having  and  as  soon  as  possible. 

Some  will  say  my  determination  was  worthy 
of  a  better  lover  but,  bless  you !  I  have  my  own 
way  of  doing  things  and  it  has  not  been  always 
so  unsuccessful. 


297 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

Hope  was  not  at  breakfast  with  us. 

"  The  child  is  worn  out,"  said  Mrs.  Fuller, 
"  I  shall  keep  her  in  bed  a.  day  or  two." 

"  Couldn't  I  see  her  a  moment?  "  I  inquired. 

"  Dear !  no  !  "  said  she.  "  The  poor  thing  is 
in  bed  with  a  headache." 

If  Hope  had  been  ill  at  home  I  should  have 
felt  free  to  go  and  sit  by  her  as  I  had  done  more 
than  once.  It  seemed  a  little  severe  to  be  shut 
away  from  her  now  but  Mrs.  Fuller's  manner 
had  fore-answered  any  appeal  and  I  held  my 
peace.  Having  no  children  of  her  own  she  had 
assumed  a  sort  of  proprietorship  over  Hope 
that  was  evident — that  probably  was  why  the 
girl  had  ceased  to  love  me  and  to  write  to  me  as 
of  old.  A  troop  of  mysteries  came  clear  to  me 
that  morning.  Through  many  gifts  and  favors 
she  had  got  my  sweetheart  in  a  sort  of  bondage 
and  would  make  a  marriage  of  her  own  choos- 
ing if  possible. 

"  Is  there  anything  you  would  like  particu- 
larly for  your  breakfast?"  Mrs.  Fuller  in- 
quired. 


Eben  Holden 

"  Haint  no  way  pertic'lar,"  said  Uncle  Eb, 
"  I  gen'rally  eat  buckwheat  pancakes  an'  maple 
sugar  with  a  good  strong  cup  o'  tea." 

Mrs.  Fuller  left  the  room  a  moment. 

"  Dunno  but  I'll  go  out  t'  the  barn  a  minnit 
'n  take  a  look  at  the  hosses,"  he  said  when  she 
came  back. 

"  The  stable  is  a  mile  away,"  she  replied 
smiling. 

"  Gran'  good  team  ye  druv  us  out  with  las' 
night,"  he  said.  "  Hed  a  chance  t'  look  'em 
over  a  leetle  there  at  the  door.  The  off  hoss 
is  puffed  some  for'ard  but  if  ye'r  husband'll 
put  on  a  cold  bandage  ev'ry  night  it'll  make 
them  legs  smoother'n  a  hound's  tooth." 

She  thanked  him  and  invited  us  to  look  in  at 
the  conservatory. 

"Where's  yer  husband?"  Uncle  Eb  in- 
quired. 

"  He's  not  up  yet,"  said  she,  "  I  fear  he  did 
not  sleep  well." 

"  Now  Mis  Fuller,"  said  Uncle  Eb,  as  we  sat 
waiting,  "  if  there's  anything  I  can  do  t'  help 
jes'  le'  me  know  what  'tis." 

She  said  there  was  nothing.  Presently 
Uncle  Eb  sneezed  so  powerfully  that  it  rattled 
the  crystals  on  the  chandelier  and  rang  in  the 
brass  medallions. 

299 


Eben  Holden 

The  first  and  second  butlers  came  running 
in  with  a  frightened  look.  There  was  also  a 
startled  movement  from  somebody  above  stairs. 

"  I  do  sneeze  powerful,  sometimes,"  said 
Uncle  Eb  from  under  his  red  bandanna.  "  'S 
enough  t'  scare  anybody." 

They  brought  in  our  breakfast  then — a  great 
array  of  tempting  dishes. 

"  Jest  hev  four  pancakes  'n  a  biled  egg," 
said  Uncle  Eb  as  he  sipped  his  tea.  "  Grand 
tea !  "  he  added,  "  strong  enough  t'  float  a  silver 
dollar  too." 

"  Mrs.  Fuller,"  I  said  rising,  when  we  had 
finished,  "  I  thank  you  for  your  hospitality, 
but  as  I  shall  have  to  work  nights,  probably, 
I  must  find  lodgings  near  the  off.ce." 

"  You  must  come  and  see  us  again,"  she 
answered  cordially.  "  On  Saturday  I  shall 
take  Hope  away  for  a  bit  of  rest  to  Saratoga 
probably — and  from  there  I  shall  take  her  to 
Hillsborough  myself  for  a  day  or  two." 

"  Thought  she  was  goin'  home  with  me," 
said  Uncle  Eb. 

"  O  dear  no!  "  said  Mrs.  Fuller,  "she  cannot 
go  now.  The  girl  is  ill  and  it's  such  a  long 
journey." 

The  postman  came  then  with  a  letter  for 
Uncle  Eb. 

300 


Eben   Holden 

It  was  from  David  Brower.  He  would  have 
to  be  gone  a  week  or  so  buying  cattle  and 
thought  Uncle  Eb  had  better  come  home  as 
soon  as  convenient. 

"  They're  lonesome,"  he  said,  thoughtfully, 
after  going  over  the  letter  again.  "  'Taint  no 
wonder — they're  gittin'  old." 

Uncle  Eb  was  older  than  either  of  them  but 
he  had  not  thought  of  that. 

"  Le's  see;  's  about  eight  o'clock,"  said  he, 
presently.  "  I've  got  t'  go  an'  ten'  to  some 
business  o'  my  own.  I'll  be  back  here  some 
time  t'  day  Mis  Fuller  an'  I'll  hev  t'  see  thet 
girl.  Ye  mustn't  never  try  t'  keep  me  'way 
from  her.  She's  sot  on  my  knee  too  many 
year  fer  that — altogether  too  many." 

We  arranged  to  meet  there  at  four.  Then  a 
servant  brought  us  our  hats.  I  heard  Hope 
calling  as  we  passed  the  stairway : 

"  Won't  you  come  up  a  minute,  Uncle  Eb?  I 
want  to  see  you  very  much." 

Then  Uncle  Eb  hurried  upstairs  and  I  came 
away. 

I  read  the  advertisements  of  board  and 
lodging — a  perplexing  task  for  one  so  igno- 
rant of  the  town.  After  many  calls  I  found  a 
place  to  my  liking  on  Monkey  Hill,  near 
Printing  House  Square.  Monkey  Hill  was  the 
301 


Eben   Holden 

east  end  of  William  street,  and  not  in  the  least 
fashionable.  There  were  some  neat  and 
cleanly  looking  houses  on  it  of  wood,  and  brick, 
and  brown  stone  inhabited  by  small  tradesmen; 
a  few  shops,  a  big  stable  and  the  chalet  sitting 
on  a  broad,  flat  roof  that  covered  a  portion  of 
the  stable  yard.  The  yard  itself  was  the  sum- 
mit of  Monkey  Hill.  It  lay  between  two  brick 
buildings  and  up  the  hill,  from  the  walk,  one 
looked  into  the  gloomy  cavern  of  the  stable 
and  under  the  low  roof,  on  one  side,  there  were 
dump  carts  and  old  coaches  in  varying  stages  of 
infirmity.  There  was  an  old  iron  shop,  that 
stood  flush  with  the  sidewalk,  flanking  the 
stable  yard.  A  lantern  and  a  mammoth  key 
were  suspended  above  the  door  and  hanging 
upon  the  side  of  the  shop  was  a  wooden  stair 
ascending  to  the  chalet.  The  latter  had  a 
sheathing  of  weather-worn  clapboards.  It 
stood  on  the  rear  end  of  the  brick  building, 
communicating  with  the  front  rooms  above  the 
shop.  A  little  stair  of  five  steps  ascended  from 
the  landing  to  its  red  door  that  overlooked  an 
ample  yard  of  roofing,  adorned  with  potted 
plants.  The  main  room  of  the  chalet  where  we 
ate  our  meals  and  sat  and  talked,  of  an  evening, 
had  the  look  of  a  ship's  cabin.  There  were 
stationary  seats  along  the  wall  covered  with 
302 


Eben  Holden 

leathern  cushions.  There  were  port  and  star- 
board lanterns  and  a  big-  one  of  polished  brass 
that  overhung  the  table.  A  ship's  clock  that 
had  a  noisy  and  cheerful  tick,  was  set  in  the 
wall.  A  narrow  passage  led  to  the  room  in 
front  and  the  latter  had  slanting  sides.  A  big 
window  of  little  panes,  in  its  further  end,  let  in 
the  light  of  William  street.  Here  I  found  a 
home  for  myself — humble  but  quaint  and 
cleanly.  A  thrifty  German  who,  having  long, 
followed  the  sea,  had  married  and  thrown  out 
his  anchor  for  good  and  all,  now  dwelt  in  the 
chalet  with  his  wife  and  two  boarders — both 
newspaper  men.  The  old  shop  keeper  in  front, 
once  a  sailor  himself,  had  put  the  place  in  ship- 
shape and  leased  it  to  them. 

Mine  host  bore  the  name  of  Opper  and  was 
widely  known  as  "  All  Right  "  Opper,  from  his 
habit  of  cheery  approval.  Everything  and 
everybody  were  "  all  right  "  to  him  so  far  as  I 
could  observe.  If  he  were  blessed  or  damned 
he  said  "  all  right."  To  be  sure  he  took  ex- 
ceptions, on  occasions,  but  even  then  the  affair 
ended  with  his  inevitable  verdict  of  "  all  right." 
Every  suggestion  I  made  as  to  terms  of  pay- 
ment and  arrangement  of  furniture  was 
promptly  stamped  with  this  seal  of  approval. 

I  was  comfortably  settled  and  hard  at  work 
3°3 


Eben   Holden 

on  my  article  by  noon.  At  four  I  went  to  meet 
Uncle  Eb.  Hope  was  still  sick  in  bed  and  we 
came  away  in  a  frame  of  mind  that  could 
hardly  have  been  more  miserable.  I  tried  to 
induce  him  to  stay  a  night  with  me  in  my  new 
quarters. 

"  I  mus'n't,"  he  said  cheerfully.  "  'Fore 
long  I'm  comin'  down  ag'in  but  I  can't  fool 
'round  no  longer  now.  I'll  jes'  go'n  git  my 
new  clothes  and  put  fer  the  steamboat.  Want 
ye  t'  go'n  see  Hope  to-morrow.  She's  comin' 
up  with  Mis  Fuller  next  week.  I'm  goin'  t' 
find  out  what's  the  matter  uv  her  then.  Some- 
thin's  wrong  somewhere.  Dunno  what  'tis. 
She's  all  upsot." 

Poor  girl !  it  had  been  almost  as  heavy  a  trial 
to  her  as  to  me — cutting  me  off  as  she  had  done. 
Remembrances  of  my  tender  devotion  to  her, 
in  all  the  years  between  then  and  childhood, 
must  have  made  her  sore  with  pity.  I  had 
already  determined  what  I  should  do,  and  after 
Uncle  Eb  had  gone  that  evening  I  wrote  her  a 
long  letter  and  asked  her  if  I  might  not  still  have 
some  hope  of  her  loving  me.  I  begged  her  to 
let  me  know  when  I  might  come  and  talk  with 
her  alone.  With  what  eloquence  I  could  bring 
to  bear  I  told  her  how  my  love  had  grown  and 
laid  hold  of  my  life. 

3°4 


Eben   Holden 

I  finished  my  article  that  night  and,  in  the 
morning,  took  it  to  Mr.  Greeley.  He  was  at 
his  desk  writing  and  at  the  same  time  giving 
orders  in  a  querulous  tone  to  some  workman 
who  sat  beside  him.  He  did  not  look  up  as  he 
spoke.  He  wrote  rapidly,  his  nose  down  so 
close  to  the  straggling,  wet  lines  that  I  felt  a 
fear  of  its  touching  them.  I  stood  by,  waiting 
my  opportunity.  A  full  bearded  man  in  his 
shirt  sleeves  came  hurriedly  out  of  another 
room. 

"  Mr.  Greeley,"  he  said,  halting  at  the  elbow 
of  the  great  editor. 

'  Yes,  what  is  it?  "  the  editor  demanded  ner- 
vously, his  hand  wobbling  over  the  white  page, 
as  rapidly  as  before,  his  eyes  upon  his  work. 

"  Another  man  garroted  this  morning  on 
South  street." 

"  Better  write  a  paragraph,"  he  said,  his 
voice  snapping  with  impatience  as  he  brushed 
the  full  page  aside  and  began  sowing  his 
thoughts  on  another.  "  Warn  our  readers. 
Tell  'em  to  wear  brass  collars  with  spikes  in 
'em  'til  we  get  a  new  mayor." 

The  man  went  away  laughing. 

Mr.  Greeley  threw  down  his  pen,  gathered 
his  copy  and  handed  it  to  the  workman  who  sat 
beside  him. 

3°5 


Eben   Holden 

"  Proof  ready  at  five !  "  he  shouted  as  the 
man  was  going  out  of  the  room. 

"Hello!  Brower  "  he  said  bending  to  his 
work  again.  "  Thought  you'd  blown  out  the 
gas  somewhere." 

"  Waiting  until  you  reject  this  article,"  I 
said. 

He  sent  a  boy  for  Mr.  Ottarson,  the  city  edi- 
tor. Meanwhile  he  had  begun  to  drive  his  pen 
across  the  broad  sheets  with  tremendous  en- 
ergy. Somehow  it  reminded  me  of  a  man 
plowing  black  furrows  behind  a  fast  walking 
team  in  a  snow  flurry.  His  mind  was  "  straddle 
the  furrow  "  when  Mr.  Ottarson  came  in. 
There  was  a  moment  of  silence  in  which  the 
latter  stood  scanning  a  page  of  the  Herald  he 
had  brought  with  him. 

"  Ottarson!  "  said  Mr.  Greeley,  never  slack- 
ing the  pace  of  his  busy  hand,  as  he  held  my 
manuscript  in  the  other,  "  read  this.  Tell  me 
what  you  think  of  it.  If  good,  give  him  a 
show." 

"  The  staff  is  full,  Mr.  Greeley,"  said  the 
man  of  the  city  desk.  His  words  cut  me  with 
disappointment. 

The  editor  of  the  Tribune  halted  his  hand 
an   instant,   read  the  last   lines,   scratching  a 
word  and  underscoring  another. 
306 


Eben  Holden 

"  Don't  care !  "  he  shrilled,  as  he  went  on 
writing.  "  Used  to  slide  down  hill  with  his 
father.  If  he's  got  brains  we'll  pay  him  eight 
dollars  a  week." 

The  city  editor  beckoned  to  me  and  I  fol- 
lowed him  into  another  room. 

"  If  you  will  leave  your  address,"  he  said, 
"  I  will  let  you  hear  from  me  when  we  have 
read  the  article." 

With  the  hasty  confidence  of  youth  I  began 
to. discount  my  future  that  very  day — ordering 
a  full  dress  suit,  of  the  best  tailor,  hat  and  shoes 
to  match  and  a  complement  of  neck  wear  that 
would  have  done  credit  to  Beau  Brummel.  It 
gave  me  a  start  when  I  saw  the  bill  would 
empty  my  pocket  of  more  than  half  its  cash. 
But  I  had  a  stiff  pace  to  follow,  and  every  rea- 
son to  look  my  best. 


3°7 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

I  took  a  walk  in  the  long  twilight  of  that 
evening.  As  it  began  to  grow  dark  I  passed 
the  Fuller  house  and  looked  up  at  its  windows. 
Standing  under  a  tree  on  the  opposite  side  of 
the  avenue  I  saw  a  man  come  out  of  the  door 
and  walk  away  hurriedly  with  long  strides. 
I  met  him  at  the  next  corner. 

"  Good  evening!  "  he  said. 

I  recognized  then  the  voice  and  figure  of 
John  Trumbull. 

"  Been  to  Fuller's,"  said  he. 

"How  is  Hope?"  I  asked. 

"  Better,"  said  he.     "  Walk  with  me  ?  " 

"  With  pleasure,"  said  I,  and  then  he  quick- 
ened his  pace. 

We  walked  awhile  in  silence,  going  so  fast 
I  had  hardly  time  to  speak,  and  the  darkness 
deepened  into  night.  We  hurried  along 
through  streets  and  alleys  that  were  but  dimly 
lighted  coming  out  at  length  on  a  wide  avenue 
passing  through  open  fields  in  the  upper  part  of 
the  city.  Lights  in  cabin  windows  glowed  on 
the  hills  around  us.  I  made  some  remark  about 
*o8 


Eben   Holden 

them  but  he  did  not  hear  me.  He  slackened 
pace  in  a  moment  and  began  whispering  to  him- 
self— I  could  not  hear  what  he  said.  I  thought 
of  bidding  him  good-night  and  returning  but 
where  were  we  and  how  could  I  find  my  way? 
We  heard  a  horse  coming  presently  at  a  gallop. 
At  the  first  loud  whack  of  the  hoofs  he  turned 
suddenly  and  laying  hold  of  my  arm  began  to 
run.  I  followed  him  into  the  darkness  of  the 
open  field.  It  gave  me  a  spell  of  rare  excite- 
ment for  I  thought  at  once  of  highwaymen — 
having  read  so  much  of  them  in  the  Tribune. 
He  stopped  suddenly  and  stooped  low  his  hands 
touching  the  grass  and  neither  spoke  until  the 
horse  had  gone  well  beyond  us.  Then  he  rose, 
stealthily,  and  looked  about  him  in  silence,  even 
turning  his  face  to  the  dark  sky  where  only  a 
few  stars  were  visible. 

"  Well ! "  said  he  with  a  sort  of  grunt. 
"  Beats  the  devil !     I  thought  it  was — " 

A  wonderful  thing  was  happening  in  the  sky. 
A  great  double  moon  seemed  to  be  flying  over 
the  city  hooded  in  purple  haze.  A  little  spray 
of  silver  light  broke  out  of  it,  as  we  looked,  and 
shot  backward  and  then  floated  after  the  two 
shining  disks  that  were  falling  eastward  in  a 
long  curve.  They  seemed  to  be  so  near  I 
thought  they  were  coming  down  upon  the  city. 
3°9 


Eben   Holden 

It  occurred  to  me  they  must  have  some  connec- 
tion with  the  odd  experience  I  had  gone 
through.  In  a  moment  they  had  passed  out  of 
sigfht.  We  were  not  aware  that  we  had  wit- 
nessed  a  spectacle  the  like  of  which  had  not 
been  seen  in  centuries,  if  ever,  since  God  made 
the  heavens — the  great  meteor  of  i860. 

"  Let's  go  back,"  said  Trumbull.  "  We  came 
too  far.     I  forgot  myself." 

"  Dangerous  here?  "  I  inquired. 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  he,  "  but  a  long  way  out  of 
town — tired  ?  " 

"  Rather,"  I  said,  grateful  for  his  evident  de- 
sire to  quiet  my  alarm. 

"  Come !  "  said  he  as  we  came  back  to  the 
pavement,  his  hand  upon  my  shoulder.  "  Talk 
to  me.     Tell  me — what  are  you  going  to  do?  " 

We  walked  slowly  down  the  deserted  avenue 
I,  meanwhile,  talking  of  my  plans. 

"  You  love  Hope,"  he  said  presently.  "  You 
will  marry  her?  " 

"  If  she  will  have  me,"  said  I. 

"  You  must  wait,"  he  said,  "  time  enough!  " 

He  quickened  his  pace  again  as  we  came  in 
sight  of  the  scattering  shops  and  houses  of  the 
upper  city  and  no  other  word  was  spoken.  On 
the  corners  we  saw  men  looking  into  the  sky 


310 


Eben   Holden 

and  talking  of  the  fallen  moon.     It    was    late 
bedtime  when  we  turned  into  Gramercy  Park. 

"  Come  in,"  said  he  as  he  opened  an  iron 
gate. 

I  followed  him  up  a  marble  stairway  and  a 
doddering  old  English  butler  opened  the  door 
for  us.  We  entered  a  fine  hall  its  floor  of 
beautiful  parquetry  muffled  with  silken  rugs. 
High  and  spacious  rooms  were  all  aglow  with 
light. 

He  conducted  me  to  a  large  smoking  room, 
its  floor  and  walls  covered  with  trophies  of  the 
hunt — antlers  and  the  skins  of  carnivora.  Here 
he  threw  off  his  coat  and  bade  me  be  at  home 
as  he  lay  down  upon  a  wicker  divan  covered 
with  the  tawny  skin  of  some  wild  animal.  He 
stroked  the  fur  fondly  with  his  hand. 

"Hello  Jock!"  he  said,  a  greeting  that 
mystified  me. 

"  Tried  to  eat  me,"  he  added,  turning  to  me. 

Then  he  bared  his  great  hairy  arm  and 
showed  me  a  lot  of  ugly  scars. 

I  besought  him  to  tell  the  story. 

"  Killed  him,"  he  answered. 

"With  a  gun?" 

"  No — with  my  hands,"  and  that  was  all 
he  would  say  of  it. 


311 


Eben   Holden 

He  lay  facing  a  black  curtain  that  covered  a 
corner.  Now  and  then  I  heard  a  singular 
sound  in  the  room — like  some  faint,  far,  night 
cry  such  as  I  have  heard  often  in  the  deep 
woods.  It  was  so  weird  I  felt  some  wonder  of 
it.  Presently  I  could  tell  it  came  from  behind 
the  curtain  where,  also,  I  heard  an  odd  rustle 
like  that  of  wings. 

I  sat  in  a  reverie,  looking  at  the  silent  man 
before  me,  and  in  the  midst  of  it  he  pulled  a 
cord  that  hung  near  him  and  a  bell  rang. 

"  Luncheon !  "  he  said  to  the  old  butler  who 
entered  immediately. 

Then  he  rose  and  showed  me  odd  things, 
carved  out  of  wood,  by  his  own  hand  as  he  told 
me,  and  with  a  delicate  art.  He  looked  at  one 
tiny  thing  and  laid  it  aside  quickly. 

"  Can't  bear  to  look  at  it  now,"  he  said. 

"Gibbet?"   I   inquired. 

"  Gibbet,"  he  answered. 

It  was  a  little  figure  bound  hand  and  foot 
and  hanging  from  the  gallows  tree. 

"  Burn  it !  "  he  said,  turning  to  the  old  ser- 
vant and  putting  it  in  his  hands.' 

Luncheon  had  been  set  between  us,  the  while, 
and  as  we  were  eating  it  the  butler  opened  a 
big  couch  and  threw  snowy  sheets  of  linen  over 
it  and  silken  covers  that  rustled  as  they  fell. 
312 


Eben   Holden 

"  You  will  sleep  there,"  said  my  host  as  his 
servant  laid  the  pillows,  "  and  well  I  hope." 

I  thought  I  had  better  go  to  my  own  lodg- 
ings. 

"  Too  late — too  late,"  said  he,  and  I,  leg- 
weary  and  half  asleep,  accepted  his  proffer  of 
hospitality.  Then,  having  eaten,  he  left  me  and 
I  got  into  bed  after  turning  the  lights  out. 
Something  woke  me  in  the  dark  of  the  night. 
There  was  a  rustling  sound  in  the  room.  I 
raised  my  head  a  bit  and  listened.  It  was  the 
black  curtain  that  hung  in  the  corner.  I 
imagined  somebody  striking  it  violently.  I 
saw  a  white  figure  standing  near  me  in  the 
darkness.  It  moved  away  as  I  looked  at  it. 
A  cold  wind  was  blowing  upon  my  face.  I  lay 
a  long  time  listening  and  by  and  by  I  could  hear 
the  deep  voice  of  Trumbull  as  if  he  were  groan- 
ing and  muttering  in  his  sleep.  When  it  began 
to  come  light  I  saw  the  breeze  from  an  open 
window  was  stirring  the  curtain  of  silk  in  the 
corner.  I  got  out  of  bed  and,  peering  behind 
the  curtain,  saw  only  a  great  white  owl,  caged 
and  staring  out  of  wide  eyes  that  gleamed  fiery 
in  the  dim  light.  I  went  to  bed  again,  sleeping 
until  my  host  woke  me  in  the  late  morning. 

After  breakfasting  I  went  to  the  chalet. 
The  postman  had  been  there  but  he  had  brought 
3J3 


Eben  Holden 

no  letter  from  Hope.  I  waited  about  home,  ex- 
pecting to  hear  from  her,  all  that  day,  only  to 
see  it  end  in  bitter  disappointment. 


3i4 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

That  very  night,  I  looked  in  at  the  little  shop 
beneath  us  and  met  Riggs.  It  was  no  small 
blessing,  just  as  I  was  entering  upon  dark  and 
unknown  ways  of  life,  to  meet  this  hoary 
headed  man  with  all  his  lanterns.  He  would 
sell  you  anchors  and  fathoms  of  chain  and  rope 
enough  to  hang  you  to  the  moon  but  his 
"  lights  "  were  the  great  attraction  of  Riggs's. 
He  had  every  kind  of  lantern  that  had  ever 
swung  on  land  or  sea.  After  dark,  when  light 
was  streaming  out  of  its  open  door  and  broad 
window  Riggs's  looked  like  the  side  of  an  old 
lantern  itself.  It  was  a  door,  low  and  wide, 
for  a  time  when  men  had  big  round  bellies  and 
nothing  to  do  but  fill  them  and  heads  not  too 
far  above  their  business.  It  was  a  window 
gone  blind  with  dust  and  cobwebs  so  it  re- 
sembled the  dim  eye  of  age.  If  the  door  were 
closed  its  big  brass  knocker  and  massive  iron 
latch  invited  the  passer.  An  old  ship's  anchor 
and  a  coil  of  chain  lay  beside  it.  Blocks  and 
heavy  bolts,  steering  wheels,  old  brass  com- 
3i5 


Eben   Holden 

passes,  coils  of  rope  and  rusty  chain  lay  on  the 
floor  and  benches,  inside  the  shop.  There  were 
rows  of  lanterns,  hanging  on  the  bare  beams. 
And  there  was  Riggs.  He  sat  by  a  dusty  desk 
and  gave  orders  in  a  sleepy,  drawling  tone  to  the 
lad  who  served  him.  An  old  Dutch  lantern,  its 
light  softened  with  green  glass,  sent  a  silver 
beam  across  the  gloomy  upper  air  of  the  shop 
that  evening.  Riggs  held  an  old  tin  lantern 
with  little  streams  of  light  bursting  through  its 
perforated  walls.  He  was  blind,  one  would 
know  it  at  a  glance.  Blindness  is  so  easy  to  be 
seen.     Riggs  was  showing  it  to  a  stranger. 

"  Turn  down  the  lights,"  he  said  and  the  boy 
got  his  stepladder  and  obeyed  him. 

Then  he  held  it  aloft  in  the  dusk  and  the  lit- 
tle lantern  was  like  a  castle  tower  with  many 
windows  lighted,  and,  when  he  set  it  down, 
there  was  a  golden  sprinkle  on  the  floor  as  if 
something  had  plashed  into  a  magic  pool  of 
light  there  in  the  darkness. 

Riggs  lifted  the  lantern,  presently,  and  stood 
swinging  it  in  his  hand.  Then  its  rays  were 
sown  upon  the  darkness  falling  silently  into  ev- 
ery nook  and  corner  of  the  gloomy  shop  and 
breaking  into  flowing  dapples  on  the  wall. 

"  See  how  quick  it  is!  "  said  he  as  the  rays 
flashed  with  the  speed  of  lightning.  "  That 
316 


Eben   Holden 

is  the  only  traveler  from  Heaven  that  travels 
fast  enough  to  ever  get  to  earth." 

Then  came  the  words  that  had  a  mighty  fit- 
ness for  his  tongue. 

"  Hail,  holy  light  !  Offspring  of  Heaven  first  born." 

His  voice  rose  and  fell,  riding  the  mighty 
rhythm  of  inspired  song.  As  he  stood  swing- 
ing the  lantern,  then,  he  reminded  me  of 
a  chanting  priest  behind  the  censer.  In  a  mo- 
ment he  sat  down,  and,  holding  the  lantern  be- 
tween his  knees,  opened  its  door  and  felt  the 
candle.  Then  as  the  light  streamed  out  upon 
his  hands,  he  rubbed  them  a  time,  silently,  as 
if  washing  them  in  the  bright  flood. 

"  One  dollar  for  this  little  box  of  daylight," 
he  said. 

"  Blind?  "  said  the  stranger  as  he  paid  him 
the  money. 

"  No,"  said  Riggs,  "  only  dreaming  as  you 
are." 

I  wondered  what  he  meant  by  the  words 
"  dreaming  as  you  are." 

"  Went  to  bed  on  my  way  home  to  marry," 
he  continued,  stroking  his  long  white  beard, 
"  and  saw  the  lights  go  out  an'  went  asleep  and 
it  hasn't  come  morning  yet — that's  what  I  be- 
lieve. I  went  into  a  dream.  Think  I'm  here 
317 


Eben   Holden 

in  a  shop  talking  but  I'm  really  in  my  bunk  on 
the  good  ship  Ariel  coming  home.  Dreamed 
everything  since  then — everything  a  man  could 
think  of.  Dreamed  I  came  home  and  found 
Annie  dead,  dreamed  of  blindness,  of  old  age 
of  poverty,  of  eating  and  drinking  and  sleeping 
and  of  many  people  who  pass  like  dim  shadows 
and  speak  to  me — you  are  one  of  them.  And 
sometimes  I  forget  I  am  dreaming  and  am  mis- 
erable, and  then  I  remember  and  am  happy.  I 
know  when  the  morning  comes  I  shall  wake 
and  laugh  at  all  these  phantoms.  And  I  shall 
pack  my  things  and  go  up  on  deck,  for  we  shall 
be  in  the  harbor  probably — ay!  may  be  Annie 
and  mother  will  be  waving  their  hands  on  the 
dock!" 

The  old  face  had  a  merry  smile  as  he  spoke 
of  the  morning  and  all  it  had  for  him. 

"  Seems  as  if  it  had  lasted  a  thousand  years," 
he  continued,  yawning  and  rubbing  his  eyes. 
"  But  I've  dreamed  the  like  before,  and,  my 
God !  how  glad  I  felt  when  I  woke  in  the  morn- 
ing." 

It  gave  me  an  odd  feeling — this  remarkable 
theory  of  the  old  man.  I  thought  then  it  would 
be  better  for  most  of  us  if  we  could  think  all 
our  misery  a  dream  and  have  his  faith  in  the 
morning — that  it  would  bring  back  the  things 
318 


Eben  Holden 

we  have  lost.  I  had  come  to  buy  a  lock  for  my 
door,  but  I  forgot  my  errand  and  sat  down  by 
Riggs  while  the  stranger  went  away  with  his 
lantern. 

"  You  see  no  reality  in  anything  but  happi- 
ness," I  said. 

"  It's  all  a  means  to  that  end,"  he  answered. 
''It  is  good  for  me,  this  dream.  I  shall  be  all 
the  happier  when  I  do  wake,  and  I  shall  love 
Annie  all  the  better,  I  suppose." 

"  I  wish  I  could  take  my  ill  luck  as  a 
dream  and  have  faith  only  in  good  things,"  I 
said. 

"  All  that  is  good  shall  abide,"  said  he,  strok- 
ing his  white  beard,  "  and  all  evil  shall  vanish 
as  the  substance  of  a  dream.  In  the  end  the 
only  realities  are  God  and  love  and  Heaven. 
To  die  is  just  like  waking  up  in  the  morning." 

"  But  I  know  I'm  awake,"  I  said. 

"  You  think  you  are — that's  a  part  of  your 
dream.  Sometimes  I  think  I'm  awake — it  all 
seems  so  real  to  me.  But  I  have  thought  it 
out,  and  I  am  the  only  man  I  meet  that  knows 
he  is  dreaming.  When  you  do  wake,  in  the 
morning,  you  may  remember  how  you  thought 
you  came  to  a  certain  shop  and  made  some 
words  with  a  man  as  to  whether  you  were  both 
dreaming,  and  you  will  laugh  and  tell  your 
3r9 


Eben  Holden 

friends  about  it.  Hold  on !  I  can  feel  the  ship 
lurching.     I  believe  I  am  going  to  wake." 

He  sat  a  moment  leaning  back  in  his  chair 
with  closed  eyes,  and  a  silence  fell  upon  us  in 
the  which  I  could  hear  only  the  faint  ticking  of 
a  tall  clock  that  lifted  its  face  out  of  the  gloom 
beyond  me. 

"You  there?"  he  whispered  presently. 

"  I  am  here,"  I  said. 

"  Odd !  "  he  muttered.  "  I  know  how  it  will 
be — I  know  how  it  has  been  before.  Generally 
come  to  some  high  place  and  a  great  fear  seizes 
me.     I  slip,  I  fall — fall — fall,  and  then  I  wake." 

After  a  little  silence  I  heard  him  snoring 
heavily.  He  was  still  leaning  back  in  his  chair. 
I  walked  on  tiptoe  to  the  door  where  the  boy 
stood  looking  out. 

"Crazy?"  I  whispered. 

"  Dunno,"  said  he,  smiling. 

I  went  to  my  room  above  and  wrote  •my  first 
tale,  which  was  nothing  more  or  less  than  some 
brief  account  of  what  I  had  heard  and  seen 
down  at  the  little  shop  that  evening.  I  mailed 
it  next  day  to  the  Knickerbocker,  with  stamps 
for  return  if  unavailable. 


320 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 

New  York  was  a  crowded  city,  even  then, 
but  I  never  felt  so  lonely  anywhere  outside  a 
camp  in  the  big  woods.  The  last  day  of  the 
first  week  came,  but  no  letter  from  Hope.  To 
make  an  end  of  suspense  I  went  that  Saturday 
morning  to  the  home  of  the  Fullers.  The 
equation  of  my  value  had  dwindled  sadly  that 
week.  Now  a  small  fraction  would  have  stood 
for  it — nay,  even  the  square  of  it. 

Hope  and  Mrs.  Fuller  had  gone  to  Saratoga, 
the  butler  told  me.  I  came  away  with  some 
sense  of  injury.  I  must  try  to  be  done  with 
Hope — there  was  no  help  for  it.  I  must  go  to 
work  at  something  r.nd  cease  to  worry  and  lie 
awake  of  nights.  But  I  had  nothing  to  do  but 
read  and  walk  and  wait.  No  word  had  come  to 
me  from  the  Tribune — evidently  it  was  not  lan- 
guishing for  my  aid.  That  day  my  tale  was  re- 
turned to  me  "  with  thanks  " — with  nothing 
but  thanks  printed  in  black  type  on  a  slip  of 
paper — cold,  formal,  prompt,  ready-made 
thanks.  And  I,  myself,  was  in  about  the  same 
321 


Eben  Holden 

fix — rejected  with  thanks — politely,  firmly, 
thankfully  rejected.  For  a  moment  I  felt  like 
a  man  falling.  I  began  to  see  there  was  no 
very  clamorous  demand  for  me  in  "  the  great 
emporium,"  as  Mr.  Greeley  called  it.  I  began 
to  see,  or  thought  I  did,  why  Hope  had  shied 
at  my  offer  and  was  now  shunning  me.  I  went 
to  the  Tribune  office.  Mr.  Greeley  had  gone 
to  Washington;  Mr.  Ottarson  was  too  busy  to 
see  me.  I  concluded  that  I  would  be  willing 
to  take  a  place  on  one  of  the  lesser  journals.  I 
spent  the  day  going  from  one  office  to  another, 
but  was  rejected  everywhere  with  thanks.  I 
came  home  and  sat  down  to  take  account  of 
stock.  First,  I  counted  my  money,  of  which 
there  were  about  fifty  dollars  left.  As  to  my 
talents,  there  were  none  left.  Like  the  pies  at 
Hillsborough  tavern,  if  a  man  came  late  to  din- 
ner— they  were  all  out.  I  had  some  fine  clothes, 
but  no  more  use  for  them  than  a  goose  for  a 
peacock's  feathers.  I  decided  to  take  anything 
honorable  as  an  occupation,  even  though  it  were 
not  in  one  of  the  learned  professions.  I  began 
to  answer  advertisements  and  apply  at  business 
offices  for  something  to  give  me  a  living,  but 
with  no  success.  I  began  to  feel  the  selfishness 
of  men.  God  pity  the  warm  and  tender  heart 
of  youth  when  it  begins  to  harden  and  grow 
322 


Eben   Holden 

chill,  as  mine  did  then;  to  put  away  its  cheery 
confidence  forever;  to  make  a  new  estimate  of 
itself  and  others.  Look  out  for  that  time,  O  ye 
good  people !  that  have  sons  and  daughters. 

I  must  say  for  myself  that  I  had  a  mighty 
courage  and  no  small  capital  of  cheerfulness. 
I  went  to  try  my  luck  with  the  newspapers  of 
Philadelphia,  and  there  one  of  them  kept  me 
in  suspense  a  week  to  no  purpose.  When  I 
came  back  reduced  in  cash  and  courage  Hope 
had  sailed. 

There  was  a  letter  from  Uncle  Eb  telling  me 
when  and  by  what  steamer  they  were  to  leave. 
"  She  will  reach  there  a  Friday,"  he  wrote, 
"  and  would  like  to  see  you  that  evening  at  Ful- 
ler's." 

I  had  waited  in  Philadelphia,  hoping  I 
might  have  some  word,  to  give  her  a  -better 
thought  of  me,  and,  that  night,  after  such  a 
climax  of  ill  luck,  well — I  had  need  of  prayer 
for  a  wayward  tongue.  I  sent  home  a  good  ac- 
count of  my  prospects.  I  could  not  bring  myself 
to  report  failure  or  send  for  more  money.  I 
would  sooner  have  gone  to  work  in  a  scullery. 

Meanwhile    my  friends    at  the    chalet  were 

enough  to  keep  me  in  good  cheer.     There  were 

William  McClingan,  a  Scotchman  of  a  great 

gift  of  dignity  and    a    nickname  inseparably 

323 


Eben  Holden 

connected  with  his  fame.  He  wrote  leaders 
for  a  big  weekly  and  was  known  as  "  Waxy  " 
McClingan,  to  honor  a  pale  ear  of  wax  that 
took  the  place  of  a  member  lost  nobody  could 
tell  how.  He  drank  deeply  at  times,  but  never 
to  the  loss  of  his  dignity  or  self  possession.  In 
his  cups  the  natural  dignity  of  the  man  grew 
and  expanded.  One  could  tell  the  extent  of  his 
indulgence  by  the  degree  of  his  dignity.  Then 
his  mood  became  at  once  didactic  and  devo- 
tional. Indeed,  I  learned  in  good  time  of  the 
rumor  that  he  had  lost  his  ear  in  an  argument 
about  the  Scriptures  over  at  Edinburgh. 

I  remember  he  came  an  evening,  soon  after 
my  arrival  at  the  chalet,  when  dinner  was  late. 
His  dignity  was  at  the  full.  He  sat  awhile  in 
grim  silence,  while  a  sense  of  injury  grew  in  his 
bosom. 

"  Mrs.  Opper,"  said  he,  in  a  grandiose  man- 
ner and  voice  that  nicely  trilled  the  r's,  "  in  the 
fourth  chapter  and  ninth  verse  of  Lamentations 
you  will  find  these  words — "  here  he  raised 
his  voice  a  bit  and  began  to  tap  the  palm  of  his 
left  hand  with  the  index  finger  of  his  right,  con- 
tinuing :  "  '  They  that  be  slain  with  the  sword 
are  better  than  they  that  be  slain  with  hunger, 
for  these  pine  away  stricken  through  want  of 
the  fruits  of  the  field.'  Upon  my  honor  as  a 
324 


Eben  Holden 

gentleman,  Mrs.  Opper,  I  was  never  so  hun- 
gry in  all  my  life." 

The  other  boarder  was  a  rather  frail  man 
with  an  easy  cough  and  a  confidential  manner. 
He  wrote  the  "  Obituaries  of  Distinguished 
Persons  "  for  one  of  the  daily  papers.  Some- 
body had  told  him,  once,  his  head  resembled 
that  of  Washington.  He  had  never  forgotten 
it,  as  I  have  reason  to  remember.  His  mind 
lived  ever  among  the  dead.  His  tongue  was 
pickled  in  maxims;  his  heart  sunk  in  the  brine 
of  recollection;  his  humor  not  less  unconscious 
and  familiar  than  that  of  an  epitaph;  his  name 
was  Lemuel  Franklin  Force.  To  the  public 
of  his  native  city  he  had  introduced  Webster 
one  fourth  of  July — a  perennial  topic  of  his 
lighter  moments. 

I  fell  an  easy  victim  to  the  obituary  editor 
that  first  evening  in  the  chalet.  We  had  risen 
from  the  table  and  he  came  and  held  me  a  mo- 
ment by  the  coat  lapel.  He  released  my  collar, 
when  he  felt  sure  of  me,  and  began  tapping 
my  chest  with  his  forefinger  to  drive  home  his 
point.  I  stood  for  quite  an  hour  out  of  sheer 
politeness.  By  that  time  he  had  me  forced  to 
the  wall — a  God's  mercy,  for  there  I  got  some 
sense  of  relief  in  the  legs.  His  gestures,  in 
imitation  of  the  great  Webster,  put  my  head  in 
325 


Eben   Holden 

some  peril.  Meanwhile  he  continued  drum- 
ming upon  my  chest.  I  looked  longingly  at  the 
empty  chairs.  I  tried  to  cut  him  off  with  ap- 
plause that  should  be  conclusive  and  satisfying, 
but  with  no  success.  It  had  only  a  stimulat- 
ing effect.  I  felt  somehow  like  a  cheap  hired 
man  badly  overworked.  I  had  lost  all  connec- 
tion. I  looked,  and  smiled,  and  nodded,  and 
exclaimed,  and  heard  nothing.  I  began  to  plan 
a  method  of  escape.  McClingan — the  great 
and  good  Waxy  McClingan — came  out  of  his 
room  presently  and  saw  my  plight. 

"  What  is  this?  "  he  asked,  interrupting,  "  a 
seerial  stawry?  " 

Getting  no  answer  he  called  my  name,  and 
when  Force  had  paused  he  came  near. 

"  In  the  sixth  chapter  and  fifth  verse  of  Prov- 
erbs," said  he,  "  it  is  written :  '  Deliver  thyself 
as  a  roe  from  the  hand  of  the  hunter  and  as  a 
bird  from  the  hand  of  the  fowler.'  Deliver 
thyself,  Brower." 

I  did  so,  ducking  under  Force's  arm  and 
hastening  to  my  chamber. 

"  Ye  have  a  brawling,  busy  tongue,  man," 
I  heard  McClingan  saying.  "  By  the  Lord ! 
ye  should  know  a  dull  tongue  is  sharper  than  a 
serpent's  tooth." 

"  You  are  a  meddlesome  fellow,"  said  Force. 
326 


Eben  Holden 

"  If  I  were  you,"  said  McClingan,  "  I  would 
go  and  get  for  myself  the  long  ear  of  an  ass 
and  empty  my  memory  into  it  every  day.  Try 
it,  man.  Give  it  your  confidence  exclusively. 
Believe  me,  my  dear  Force,  you  would  win 
golden  opinions." 

"  It  would  be  better  than  addressing  an  ear 
of  wax,"  said  Force,  hurriedly  withdrawing  to 
his  own  room. 

This  answer  made  McClingan  angry. 

""Better  an  ear  of  wax  than  a  brain  of  putty," 
he  called  after  him.  "  Blessed  is  he  that  hath 
no  ears  when  a  fool's  tongue  is  busy,"  and  then 
strode  up  and  down  the  floor,  muttering  om- 
inously. 

I  came  out  of  my  room  shortly,  and  then  he 
motioned  me  aside. 

"  Pull  your  own  trigger  first,  man,"  he  said 
to  me  in  a  low  tone.  "  When  ye  see  he's  going 
to  shoot  pull  your  own  trigger  first.  Go  right 
up  t'  him  and  tap  him  on  the  chest  quickly  and 
say,  '  My  dear  Force,  I  have  a  glawrious  stawry 
to  tell  you,'  and  keep  tapping  him — his  own 
trick,  you  know,  and  he  can't  complain.  Now 
he  has  a  weak  chest,  and  when  he  begins  to 
cough — man,  you  are  saved." 

Our  host,  Opper,  entered  presently,  and  in 


327 


Eben   Holden 

removing  the  table  cloth  inadvertently  came 
between  us.     McClingan  resented  it  promptly. 

"  Mr.  Opper,"  said  he,  leering  at  the  poor 
German,  "  as  a  matter  of  personal  obligement, 
will  you  cease  to  interrupt  us  ?  " 

"All  right!  all  right!  gentlemens,"  he  re- 
plied, and  then,  fearing  that  he  had  not  quite 
squared  himself,  turned  back,  at  the  kitchen 
door,  and  added,  "  Oxcuse  me." 

McClingan  looked  at  him  with  that  leering 
superior  smile  of  his,  and  gave  him  just  the 
slightest  possible  nod  of  his  head. 

McClingan  came  into  my  room  with  me 
awhile  then.  He  had  been  everywhere,  it 
seemed  to  me,  and  knew  everybody  worth 
knowing.  I  was  much  interested  in  his  anec- 
dotes of  the  great  men  of  the  time.  Unlike 
the  obituary  editor  his  ear  was  quite  as  ready 
as  his  tongue,  though  I  said  little  save  now  and 
then  to  answer  a  question  that  showed  a  kindly 
interest  in  me. 

I  went  with  him  to  his  room  at  last,  where  he 
besought  me  to  join  him  in  drinking  "  confu- 
sion to  the  enemies  of  peace  and  order."  On 
my  refusing,  he  drank  the  toast  alone,  and 
shortl)'-  proposed  "  death  to  slavery."  This 
was  followed  in  quick  succession  by  "  death  to 
the  arch  traitor,  Buchanan;"  "peace  to  the 
328 


Eben   Holden 

soul  of  John  Brown;"  "success  to  Honest 
Abe "  and  then  came  a  hearty  "  here's  to 
the  protuberant  abdomen  of  the  Mayor." 

I  left  him  at  midnight  standing  in  the  mid- 
dle of  his  room  and  singing  "  The  Land  o'  the 
Leal  "  in  a  low  tone  savored  with  vast  dignity. 


329 


y  CHAPTER  XXXV 

I  was  soon  near  out  of  money  and  at  my 
wit's  end,  but  my  will  was  unconquered.  In 
this  plight  I  ran  upon  Fogarty,  the  policeman 
who  had  been  the  good  angel  of  my  one  hope- 
ful day  in  journalism.  His  manner  invited  my 
confidence. 

"What  luck?"  said  he. 

"  Bad  luck,"  I  answered.  "  Only  ten  dollars 
in  my  pocket  and  nothing  to  do." 

He  swung  his  stick  thoughtfully. 

"  If  I  was  you,"  said  he,  "  I'd  take  anything 
honest.  Upon  me  wurred,  I'd  ruther  pound 
rocks  than  lay  idle." 

"  So  would  I." 

"Wud  ye?"  said  he  with  animation,  as  he 
took  my  measure  from  head  to  foot. 

"  I'll  do  anything  that's  honest." 

"Ah  ha!"  said  he,  rubbing  his  sandy  chin 
whiskers.  "  Dont  seem  like  ye'd  been  used 
t'  hard  wurruk." 

"  But  I  can  do  it,"  I  said. 

He  looked  at  me  sternly  and"  beckoned  with 
his  head. 

33° 


Eben  Holden 

"  Come  along,"  said  he. 

He  took  me  to  a  gang  of  Irishmen  working 
in  the  street  near  by. 

"  Boss  McCormick!  "  he  shouted. 

A  hearty  voice  answered,  "  Aye,  aye,  Coun- 
sellor," and  McCormick  came  out  of  the 
crowd,  using  his  shovel  for  a  staff. 

"  A  happy  day  t'  ye !  "  said  Fogarty. 

"  Same  t'  youse  an'  manny  o'  thim,"  said  Mc- 
Cormick. 

"  Ye'll  gi'  me  one  if  ye  do  me  a  favor,"  said 
Fogarty. 

"An'  what?"  said  the  other. 

"  A  job  for  this  lad.     Wull  ye  do  it?  " 

"  I  wull,"  said  McCormick,  and  he  did. 

I  went  to  work  early  the  next  morning,  with 
nothing  on  but  my  underclothing  and  trousers, 
save  a  pair  of  gloves,  that  excited  the  ridicule 
of  my  fellows.  With  this  livery  and  the  right- 
eous determination  of  earning  two  dollars  a 
day,  I  began  the  inelegant  task  of  "  pounding 
rocks  " — no  merry  occupation,  I  assure  you, 
for  a  hot  summer's  day  on  Manhattan  Island. 

We  were  paving  Park  Place  and  we  had  to 
break  stone  and  lay  them  and  shovel  dirt  and 
dig  with  a  pick  and  crowbar. 

My  face  and  neck  were  burned  crimson  when 
we  quit  work  at  five,  and  I  went  home  with  a 
331 


Eben  Holden 

feeling  of  having  been  run  over  by  the  cars.  I 
had  a  strong  sense  of  soul  and  body,  the  latter 
dominated  by  a  mighty  appetite.  McClingan 
viewed  me  at  first  with  suspicion  in  which  there 
was  a  faint  flavor  of  envy.  He  invited  me  at 
once  to  his  room,  and  was  amazed  at  seeing  it 
was  no  lark.  I  told  him  frankly  what  I  was 
doing  and  why  and  where. 

"  I  would  not  mind  the  loaning  of  a  few  dol- 
lars," he  said,  "  as  a  matter  o'  personal  oblige- 
ment  I  would  be  most  happy  to  do  it — most 
happy,   Brower,  indeed  I  would." 

I  thanked  him  cordially,  but  declined  the 
favor,  for  at  home  they  had  always  taught  me 
the  danger  of  borrowing,  and  I  was  bound  to 
have  it  out  with  ill  luck  on  my  own  resources. 

"  Greeley  is  back,"  said  he,  "  and  I  shall  see 
him  to-morrow.  I  will  put  him  in  mind  o'  you." 

I  went  away  sore  in  the  morning,  but  with 
no  drooping  spirit.  In  the  middle  of  the  after- 
noon I  straightened  up  a  moment  to  ease  my 
back  and  look  about  me. 

There  at  the  edge  of  the  gang  stood  the  great 
Horace  Greeley  and  Waxy  McClingan.  The 
latter  beckoned  me  as  he  caught  my  eye.  I 
went  aside  to  greet  them.  Mr.  Greeley  gave  me 
his  hand. 


332 


Eben  Holden 

"  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  you'd  rather 
work  than  beg  or  borrow?  "  said  he. 

"  That's  about  it,"  I  answered. 

"  And  ain't  ashamed  of  it?  " 

"  Ashamed!  Why?  "  said  I,  not  quite  sure 
of  his  meaning.  It  had  never  occurred  to  me 
that  one  had  any  cause  to  be  ashamed  of 
working. 

He  turned  to  McClingan  and  laughed. 

"  I  guess  you'll  do  for  the  Tribune/'  he  said. 
"  Come  and  see  me  at  twelve  to-morrow." 

And  then  they  went  away. 

If  I  had  been  a  knight  of  the  garter  I  could 
not  have  been  treated  with  more  distinguished 
courtesy  by  those  hard  handed  men  the  rest  of 
the  day.  I  bade  them  good-by  at  night  and  got 
my  order  for  four  dollars.  One  Pat  Devlin,  a 
great  hearted  Irishman,  who  had  shared  my 
confidence  and  some  of  my  doughnuts  on  the 
curb  at  luncheon  time,  I  remember  best  of  all. 

'  Ye'll  niver  fergit  the  toime  we  wurruked 
together  under  Boss  McCormick."  said  he. 

And  to  this  day,  whenever  I  meet  the  good 
man,  now  bent  and  grey,  he  says  always, 
"  Good  day  t'  ye,  Mr.  Brower.  D'  ye  mind  the 
toime  we  pounded  the  rock  under  Boss  Mc- 
Cormick ?  " 


333 


Eben  Holden 

Mr.  Greeley  gave  me  a  place  at  once  on  the 
local  staff  and  invited  me  to  dine  with  him  at 
his  home  that  evening-.  Meanwhile  he  sent  me 
to  the  headquarters  of  the  Republican  Central 
Campaign  Committee,  on  Broadway,  opposite 
the  New  York  Hotel.  Lincoln  had  been  nomi- 
nated in  May,  and  the  great  political  fight  of 
i860  was  shaking  the  city  with  its  thunders. 

I  turned  in  my  copy  at  the  city  desk  in  good 
season,  and,  although  the  great  editor  had  not 
yet  left  his  room,  I  took  a  car  at  once  to  keep 
my  appointment.  A  servant  showed  me  to  a 
seat  in  the  big  back  parlor  of  Mr.  Greeley's 
home,  where  I  spent  a  lonely  hour  before  I 
heard  his  heavy  footsteps  in  the  hall.  He  im- 
mediately rushed  upstairs,  two  steps  at  a  time, 
and,  in  a  moment,  I  heard  his  high  voice  greet- 
ing the  babies.  He  came  down  shortly  with 
one  of  them  clinging  to  his  hand. 

"Thunder!"  said  he,  "I  had  forgotten  all 
about  you.     Let's  go  right  in  to  dinner." 

He  sat  at  the  head  of  the  table  and  I  next  to 
him.  I  remember  how,  wearied  by  the  day's 
burden,  he  sat,  lounging  heavily,  in  careless 
attitudes.  He  stirred  his  dinner  into  a  hash  of 
eggs,  potatoes,  squash  and  parsnips,  and  ate  it 
leisurely  with  a  spoon,  his  head  braced  often 
with  his  left  forearm,  its  elbow  resting  on  the 
334 


Eben  Holden 

table.  It  was  a  sort  of  letting  go,  after  the 
immense  activity  of  the  day,  and  a  casual  ob- 
server would  have  thought  he  affected  the  un- 
couth, which  was  not  true  of  him. 

He  asked  me  to  tell  him  all  about  my  father 
and  his  farm.  At  length  I  saw  an  absent  look 
in  his  eye,  and  stopped  talking,  because  I 
thought  he  had  ceased  to  listen. 

"  Very  well !  very  well !  "  said  he. 

I  looked  up  at  him,  not  knowing  what  he 
meant. 

"   Go  on!     Tell  me  all  about  it,'"  he  added. 

"  I  like  the  country  best,"  said  he,  when  I  had 
finished,  "  because  there  I  see  more  truth  in 
things.  Here  the  lie  has  many  forms — unique, 
varied,  ingenious.  The  rouge  and  powder  on 
the  lady's  cheek — they  are  lies,  both  of  them; 
the  baronial  and  ducal  crests  are  lies  and  the 
fools  who  use  them  are  liars;  the  people  who 
soak  themselves  in  rum  have  nothing  but  lies 
in  their  heads;  the  multitude  who  live  by 
their  wits  and  the  lack  of  them  in  others — they 
are  all  liars;  the  many  who  imagine  a  vain 
thing  and  pretend  to  be  what  they  are  not — 
liars  every  one  of  them.  It  is  bound  to  be  so 
in  the  great  cities,  and  it  is  a  mark  of  decay. 
The  skirts  of  Elegabalus,  the  wigs  and  rouge 
pots  of  Madame  Pompadour,  the  crucifix  of 
335 


Eben  Hoi  den 

Machiavelli  and  the  innocent  smile  of  Fer- 
nando Wood  stand  for  something  horribly  and 
vastly  false  in  the  people  about  them.  For  truth 
you've  got  to  get  back  into  the  woods.  You 
can  find  men  there  a  good  deal  as  God  made 
them — genuine,  strong  and  simple.  When 
those  men  cease  to  come  here  you'll  see  grass 
growing  in   Broadway." 

I  made  no  answer  and  the  great  commoner 
stirred  his  coffee  a  moment  in  silence. 

"  Vanity  is  the  curse  of  cities,"  he  continued, 
"  and  Flattery  is  its  handmaiden.  Vanity, 
Flattery  and  Deceit  are  the  three  disgraces.  I 
like  a  man  to  be  what  he  is — out  and  out.  If 
he's  ashamed  of  himself  it  won't  be  long  before 
his  friends'll  be  ashamed  of  him.  There's  the 
trouble  with  this  town.  Many  a  fellow  is  pre- 
tending to  be  what  he  isn't.  A  man  cannot 
be  strong  unless  he  is  genuine." 

One  of  his  children — a  little  girl — came  and 
stood  close  to  him  as  he  spoke.  He  put  his  big 
arm  around  her  and  that  gentle,  permanent 
smile  of  his  broadened  as  he  kissed  her  and 
patted  her  red  cheek. 

"  Anything  new  in  the  South  ?  "  Mrs.  Gree- 
ley inquired. 

"  Worse  and  worse  every  day,"  he  said. 
"  Serious  trouble  coming !  The  Charleston 
336 


Eben   Holden 

dinner  yesterday  was  a  feast  of  treason  and  a 
flow  of  criminal  rhetoric.  The  Union  was  the 
chief  dish.  Everybody  slashed  it  with  his 
knife  and  jabbed  it  with  his  fork.  It  was 
slaughtered,  roasted,  made  into  mincemeat  and 
devoured.  One  orator  spoke  of  '  rolling  back 
the  tide  of  fanaticism  that  finds  its  root  in  the 
conscience  of  the  people.'  Their  metaphors 
are  as  bad  as  their  morals." 

He  laughed  heartily  at  this  example  of  fer- 
vid eloquence,  and  then  we  rose  from  the  table. 
He  had  to  go  to  the  office  that  evening,  and  I 
came  away  soon  after  dinner.  I  had  nothing, 
to  do  and  went  home  reflecting  upon  all  the 
great  man  had  said. 

I  began  shortly  to  see  the  truth  of  what  he 
had  told  me — men  licking  the  hand  of  riches 
with  the  tongue  of  flattery;  men  so  stricken 
with  the  itch  of  vanity  that  they  groveled  for 
the  touch  of  praise;  men  even  who  would  do 
perjury  for  applause.  I  do  not  say  that  most 
of  the  men  I  saw  were  of  that  ilk,  but  enough 
to  show  the  tendency  of  life  in  a  great  town. 

I  was  filled  with  wonder  at  first  by  meeting 
so  many  who  had  been  everywhere  and  seen 
everything,  who  had  mastered  all  sciences  and 
all  philosophies  and  endured  many  perils  on 
land  and  sea.  I  had  met  liars  before — it  was 
337 


Eben   Holden 

no  Eden  there  in  the  north  country — and  some 
of  them  had  attained  a  good  degree  of  ef- 
ficiency, but  they  lacked  the  candor  and  finish 
of  the  metropolitan  school.  I  confess  they 
were  all  too  much  for  me  at  first.  They  bor- 
rowed my  cash,  they  shared  my  confidence, 
they  taxed  my  credulity,  and  I  saw  the  truth 
at  last. 

"  Tom's  breaking  down,"  said  a  co-laborer 
on  the  staff  one  day. 

"How  is  that?"   I  inquired. 

"  Served  me  a  mean  trick." 

"Indeed!" 

"  Deceived  me,"  said  he  sorrowfully. 

"  Lied,  I  suppose?  " 

"  No.  He  told  the  truth,  as  God's  my  wit- 
ness." 

Tom  had  been  absolutely  reliable  up  to  that 
time. 


338 


CHAPTER  XXXVI 

Those  were  great  days  in  mid  autumn.  The 
Republic  was  in  grave  peril  of  dissolution. 
Liberty  that  had  hymned  her  birth  in  the  last 
century  now  hymned  her  destiny  in  the  voices 
of  bard  and  orator.  Crowds  of  men  gathered 
in  public  squares,  at  bulletin  boards,  on  street 
corners  arguing,  gesticulating,  exclaiming 
and  cursing.  Cheering  multitudes  went  up  and 
down  the  city  by  night,  with  bands  and  torches, 
and  there  was  such  a  howl  of  oratory  and  ap- 
plause on  the  lower  half  of  Manhattan  Island 
that  it  gave  the  reporter  no  rest.  William  H 
Seward,  Charles  Sumner,  John  A.  Dix,  Henry 
Ward  Beecher  and  Charles  O'Connor  were 
the  giants  of  the  stump.  There  was  more  vio- 
lence and  religious  fervor  in  the  political  feeling 
of  that  time  than  had  been  mingled  since  '76. 
A  sense  of  outrage  was  in  the  hearts  of  men. 
"  Honest  Abe  "  Lincoln  stood,  as  they  took  it, 
for  their  homes  and  their  country,  for  human 
liberty  and  even  for  their  God. 

I  remember  coming  into  the  counting  room 
late  one  evening.     Loud  voices  had  halted  me 
339 


Eben  Holden 

as  I  passed  the  door.  Mr.  Greeley  stood  back 
of  the  counter;  a  rather  tall,  wiry,  gray  headed 
man  before  it.  Each  was  shaking  a  right  fist 
under  the  other's  nose.  They  were  shouting 
loudly  as  they  argued.  The  stranger  was  for 
war;  Mr.  Greeley  for  waiting.  The  publisher 
of  the  Tribune  stood  beside  the  latter,  smoking 
a  pipe;  a  small  man  leaned  over  the  counter  at 
the  stranger's  elbow,  putting  in  a  word  here 
and  there;  half  a  dozen  people  stood  by,  listen- 
ing. Mr.  Greeley  turned  to  his  publisher  in  a 
moment. 

"  Rhoades,"  said  he,  "  I  wish  ye'd  put  these 
men  out.  They  holler  'n  yell,  so  I  can't  hear 
myself  think." 

Then  there  was  a  general  laugh. 

I  learned  to  my  surprise,  when  they  had 
gone,  that  the  tall  man  was  William  H.  Sew- 
ard, the  other  John  A.  Dix. 

Then  one  of  those  fevered  days  came  the 
Prince  of  Wales — a  Godsend,  to  allay  passion 
with  curiosity. 

It  was  my  duty  to  handle  some  of  "  the  latest 
news  by  magnetic  telegraph,"  and  help  to  get 
the  plans  and  progress  of  the  campaign  at  head- 
quarters. The  Printer,  as  they  called  Mr. 
Greeley,  was  at  his  desk  when  I  came  in  at 
noon,  never  leaving  the  office  but  for  dinner, 
34° 


Eben   Holden 

until  past  midnight,  those  clays.  And  he 
made  the  Tribune  a  mighty  power  in  the  state. 
His  faith  in  its  efficacy  was  sublime,  and  every 
line  went  under  his  eye  before  it  went  to  his 
readers.  I  remember  a  night  when  he  called 
me  to  his  office  about  twelve  o'clock.  He  was 
up  to  his  knees  in  the  rubbish  of  the  day-news- 
papers that  he  had  read  and  thrown  upon  the 
floor;  his  desk  was  littered  with  proofs. 

"  Go  an'  see  the  Prince  o'  Wales,"  he  said. 
(That  interesting  young  man  had  arrived  on 
the  Harriet  Lane  that  morning  and  ridden  up 
Broadway  between  cheering  hosts.)  "I've 
got  a  sketch  of  him  here  an'  it's  all  twaddle. 
Tell  us  something  new  about  him.  If  he's  got 
a  hole  in  his  sock  we  ought  to  know  it." 

Mr.  Dana  came  in  to  see  him  while  I  was 
there. 

"  Look  here,  Dana,"  said  the  Printer,  in  a 
rasping  humor.  "  By  the  gods  of  war !  here's 
two  columns  about  that  performance  at  the 
Academy  and  only  two  sticks  of  the  speech  of 
Seward  at  St.  Paul.  I'll  have  to  get  some  one 
t'go  an'  burn  that  theatre  an' send  the  bill  to 
me." 

In  the  morning  Mayor  Wood  introduced  me 
to  the  Duke    of  Newcastle,    who  in  turn  pre- 
sented me  to  the  Prince  of  Wales— then  a  slim, 
34i 


Eben   Holden 

blue  eyed  youngster  of  nineteen,  as  gentle  man- 
nered as  any  I  have  ever  met.  It  was  my  un- 
pleasant duty  to  keep  as  near  as  possible  to  the 
royal  party  in  all  the  festivities  of  that  week. 

The  ball,  in  the  Prince's  honor,  at  the  Acad- 
emy of  Music,  was  one  of  the  great  social  events 
of  the  century.  No  fair  of  vanity  in  the  western 
hemisphere  ever  quite  equaled  it.  The  fash- 
ions of  the  French  Court  had  taken  the  city,  as 
had  the  Prince,  by  unconditional  surrender. 
Not  in  the  palace  of  Versailles  could  one  have 
seen  a  more  generous  exposure  of  the  charms 
of  fair  women.  None  were  admitted  without 
a  low-cut  bodice,  and  many  came  that  had  not 
the  proper  accessories.  But  it  was  the  most 
brilliant  company  New  York  had  ever  seen. 

Too  many  tickets  had  been  distributed  and 
soon  "  there  was  an  elbow  on  every  rib  and  a 
heel  on  every  toe,"  as  Mr.  Greeley  put  it.  Every 
miss  and  her  mamma  tiptoed  for  a  view  of  the 
Prince  and  his  party,  who  came  in  at  ten,  tak- 
ing their  seats  on  a  dais  at  one  side  of  the 
crowded  floor.  The  Prince  sat  with  his  hands 
folded  before  him,  like  one  in  a  reverie.  Be- 
side him  were  the  Duke  of  Newcastle,  a  big, 
stern  man,  with  an  aggressive  red  beard;  the 
blithe  and  sparkling  Earl  of  St.  Germans,  then 
Steward  of  the  Royal  Household;  the  curly 
342 


Eben  Holden 

Major  Teasdale;  the  gay  Bruce,  a  major-gen- 
eral, who  behaved  himself  always  like  a  lady. 
Suddenly  the  floor  sank  beneath  the  crowd  of 
people,  who  retired  in  some  disorder.  Such  a 
compression  of  crinoline  was  never  seen  as  at 
that  moment,  when  periphery  pressed  upon  per- 
iphery, and  held  many  a  man  captive  in  the  cold 
embrace  of  steel  and  whalebone.  The  royal 
party  retired  to  its  rooms  again  and  carpenters 
came  in  with  saws  and  hammers.  The  floor 
repaired,  an  area  was  roped  off  for  dancing — 
as  much  as  could  be  spared.  The  Prince 
opened  the  dance  with  Mrs.  Governor  Morgan, 
after  which  other  ladies  were  honored  with  his 
gallantry. 

I  saw  Mrs.  Fuller  in  one  of  the  boxes  and 
made  haste  to  speak  with  her.  She  had  just 
landed,  having  left  Hope  to  study  a  time  in  the 
Conservatory  of  Leipsic. 

"  Mrs.  Livingstone  is  with  her,"  said  she, 
"  and  they  will  return  together  in  April." 

"Mrs.  Fuller,  did  she  send  any  word  to  me?  " 
I  inquired  anxiously.  "  Did  she  give  you  no 
message  ?  " 

"  None,"  she  said  coldly,  "  except  one  to  her 
mother  and  father,  which  I  have  sent  in  a  letter 
to  them." 

I  left  her  heavy  hearted,  went  to  the  repor- 
343 


Eben  Holden 

ter's  table  and  wrote  my  story,  very  badly  I 
must  admit,  for  I  was  cut  deep  with  sadness. 
Then  I  came  away  and  walked  for  hours,  not 
caring  whither.  A  great  homesickness  had 
come  over  me.  I  felt  as  if  a  talk  with  Uncle 
Eb  or  Elizabeth  Brower  would  have  given  me 
the  comfort  I  needed .  I  walked  rapidly  through 
dark,  deserted  streets.  A  steeple  clock  was 
striking  two,  when  I  heard  some  one  coming 
hurriedly  on  the  walk  behind  me.  I  looked 
over  my  shoulder,  but  could  not  make  him  out 
in  the  darkness,  and  yet  there  was  something 
familiar  in  the  step.  As  he  came  near  I  felt 
his  hand  upon  my  shoulder. 

"  Better  go  home,  Brower,"  he  said,  as  I  rec- 
ognized the  voice  of  Trumbull.  "  You've 
been  out  a  long  time.  Passed  you  before  to- 
night." 

"  Why  didn't  you  speak?  " 

"  You  were  preoccupied." 

"  Not  keeping  good  hours  yourself,"  I  said. 

"  Rather  late,"  he  answered,  "  but  I  am  a 
walker,  and  I  love  the  night.  It  is  so  still  in 
this  part  of  the  town." 

We  were  passing  the  Five  Points. 

"  When  do  you  sleep,"  I  inquired. 

"  Never  sleep  at  night,"  he  said,  "  unless  un- 
commonly tired.  Out  every  night  more  or 
344 


Eben  Holden 

less.  Sleep  two  hours  in  the  morning-  and  two 
in  the  afternoon — that's  all  I  require.  Seen  the 
hands  o'  that  clock  yonder  on  every  hour  of  the 
night." 

He  pointed  to  a  lighted  dial  in  a  near  tower. 

Stopping  presently  he  looked  down  at  a 
little  waif  asleep  in  a  doorway,  a  bundle  of 
evening  papers  under  his  arm.  He  lifted  him 
tenderly. 

"  Here  boy,"  he  said,  dropping  coins  in  the 
pocket  of  the  ragged  little  coat,  "  I'll  take  those 
papers — you  go  home  now." 

We  walked  to  the  river,  passing  few  save 
members  of  "  the  force,"  who  always  gave 
Trumbull  a  cheery  "  hello  Cap!  "  We  passed 
wharves  where  the  great  sea  horses  lay  stalled, 
with  harnesses  hung  high  above  them,  their 
noses  nodding  over  our  heads;  we  stood  awhile 
looking  up  at  the  looming  masts,  the  lights  of 
the  river  craft. 

"  Guess  I've  done  some  good,"  said  he  turn- 
ing into  Peck  Slip.  "  Saved  two  young  women. 
Took  'em  off  the  streets.  Fine  women  now 
both  of  them — respectable,  prosperous,  and 
one  is  beautiful.  Man  who's  got  a  mother, 
or  a  sister,  can't  help  feeling  sorry  for  such  peo- 
ple." 

We  came  up  Frankfort  to  William  street 
345 


Eben  Holden 

where  we  shook  hands  and  parted  and  I  turned 
up  Monkey  Hill.  I  had  made  unexpected 
progress  with  Trumbull  that  night.  He  had 
never  talked  to  me  so  freely  before  and  some- 
how he  had  let  me  come  nearer  to  him  than  I 
had  ever  hoped  to  be.  His  company  had  lifted 
me  out  of  the  slough  a  little  and  my  mind  was 
on  a  better  footing  as  I  neared  the  chalet. 

Riggs's  shop  was  lighted, — an  unusual  thing 
at  so  late  an  hour.  Peering  through  the  win- 
dow I  saw  Riggs  sleeping  at  his  desk.  An  old 
tin  lantern  sat  near,  its  candle  burning  low,  with 
a  flaring  flame,  that  threw  a  spray  of  light  upon 
him  as  it  rose  and  fell.  Far  back  in  the  shop 
another  light  was  burning  dimly.  I  lifted  the 
big  iron  latch  and  pushed  the  door  open.  Riggs 
did  not  move.  I  closed  the  door  softly  and 
went  back  into  the  gloom.  The  boy  was  also 
sound  asleep  in  his  chair.  The  lantern  light 
flared  and  fell  again  as  water  leaps  in  a  stopping 
fountain.  As  it  dashed  upon  the  face  of  Riggs 
I  saw  his  eyes  half  open.  I  went  close  to  his 
chair.  As  I  did  so  the  light  went  out  and 
smoke  rose  above  the  lantern  with  a  rank  odor. 

"  Riggs !  "  I  called  but  he  sat  motionless  and 
made  no  answer. 

The  moonlight  came  through  the  dusty  win- 
dow lighting  his  face  and  beard.  I  put  my 
346 


Eben  Holden 

hand  upon  his  brow  and  withdrew  it  quickly. 
I  was  in  the  presence  of  death.  I  opened  the 
door  and  called  the  sleeping  boy.  He  rose  out 
of  his  chair  and  came  toward  me  rubbing  his 
eyes. 

"  Your  master  is  dead,"  I  whispered,  "  go 
and  call  an  officer." 

Riggs's  dream  was  over — he  had  waked  at 
last.  He  was  in  port  and  I  doubt  not  Annie 
and  his  mother  were  hailing  him  on  the  shore 
for  I  knew  now  they  had  both  died  far  back  in 
that  long  dream  of  the  old  sailor. 

My  story  of  Riggs  was  now  complete.  It 
soon  found  a  publisher  because  it  was  true. 

"  All  good  things  are  true  in  literature," 
said  the  editor  after  he  had  read  it.  "  Be  a  ser- 
vant of  Truth  always  and  you  will  be  success- 
ful." 


347 


CHAPTER  XXXVII 

As  soon  as  Lincoln  was  elected  the  attitude 
of  the  South  showed  clearly  that  "the  irrepres- 
sible conflict,"  of  Mr.  Seward's  naming,  had 
only  just  begun.  The  Herald  gave  columns 
every  day  to  the  news  of  "  the  coming  Revolu- 
tion," as  it  was  pleased  to  call  it.  There  was 
loud  talk  of  war  at  and  after  the  great  Pine 
Street  meeting  of  December  15.  South  Caro- 
lina seceded,  five  days  later,  and  then  we  knew 
what  was  coming,  albeit,  we  saw  only  the  dim 
shadow  of  that  mighty  struggle  that  was  to 
shake  the  earth  for  nearly  five  years.  The 
Printer  grew  highly  irritable  those  days  and 
spoke  of  Buchanan  and  Davis  and  Toombs  in 
language  so  violent  it  could  never  have  been 
confined  in  type.  But  while  a  bitter  foe  none 
was  more  generous  than  he  and,  when  the  war 
was  over,  his  money  went  to  bail  the  very  man 
he  had  most  roundly  damned. 

I  remember  that  one  day,  when  he  was  sunk 

deep  in  composition,  a  negro  came  and  began 

with  grand  airs  to  make  a  request  as  delegate 

from  his  campaign  club.     The  Printer  sat  still, 

3*8 


Eben  Holden 

his  eyes  close  to  the  paper  his  pen  flying  at 
high  speed.  The  colored  orator  went  on  lift- 
ing his  voice  in  a  set  petition.  Mr.  Greeley 
bent  to  his  work  as  the  man  waxed  eloquent. 
A  nervous  movement  now  and  then  betrayed 
the  Printer's  irritation.  He  looked  up,  shortly, 
his  face  kindling  with  anger. 

"Help!  For  God's  sake!"  he  shrilled  im- 
patiently, his  hands  flying  in  the  air.  The 
Printer  seemed  to  be  gasping  for  breath. 

"  Go  and  stick  your  head  out  of  the  window 
and  get  through,"  he  shouted  hotly  to  the  man. 

He  turned  to  his  writing — a  thing  dearer  to 
him  than  a  new  bone  to  a  hungry  dog. 

"  Then  you  may  come  and  tell  me  what  you 
want,"  he  added  in  a  milder  tone. 

Those  were  days  when  men  said  what  they 
meant  and  their  meaning  had  more  fight  in  it 
than  was  really  polite  or  necessary.  Fight  was 
in  the  air  and  before  I  knew  it  there  was  a  wild, 
devastating  spirit  in  my  own  bosom,  insomuch 
that  I  made  haste  to  join  a  local  regiment.  It 
grew  apace  but  not  until  I  saw  the  first  troops 
on  their  way  to  the  war  was  I  fully  determined 
to  go  and  give  battle  with  my  regiment. 

The  town  was  afire  with  patriotism.  Sum- 
ter had  fallen;  Lincoln  had  issued  his  first  call. 
The  sound  of  the  fife  and  drum  rang  in  the 
349 


Eben  Holden 

streets.  Men  gave  up  work  to  talk  and  listen 
or  go  into  the  sterner  business  of  war.  Then 
one  night  in  April,  a  regiment  came  out  of 
New  England,  on  its  way  to  the  front.  It  lodged 
at  the  Astor  House  to  leave  at  nine  in  the  morn- 
ing. Long  before  that  hour  the  building  was 
flanked  and  fronted  with  tens  of  thousands, 
crowding  Broadway  for  three  blocks,  stuffing 
the  wide  mouth  of  Park  Row  and  braced  into 
Vesey  and  Barclay  streets.  My  editor  assigned 
me  to  this  interesting  event.  I  stood  in  the 
crowd,  that  morning,  and  saw  what  was  really 
the  beginning  of  the  war  in  New  York.  There 
was  no  babble  of  voices,  no  impatient  call,  no 
sound  of  idle  jeering  such  as  one  is  apt  to  hear 
in  a  waiting  crowd.  It  stood  silent,  each  man 
busy  with  the  rising  current  of  his  own  emo- 
tions, solemnified  by  the  faces  all  around  him. 
The  soldiers  filed  out  upon  the  pavement,  the 
police  having  kept  a  way  clear  for  them.  Still 
there  was  silence  in  the  crowd  save  that  near 
me  I  could  hear  a  man  sobbing.  A  trumpeter 
lifted  his  bugle  and  sounded  a  bar  of  the  re- 
veille. The  clear  notes  clove  the  silent  air, 
flooding  every  street  about  us  with  their  sil- 
ver sound.  Suddenly  the  band  began  playing. 
The  tune  was  Yankee  Doodle.  A  wild,  dis- 
mal, tremulous  cry  came  out  of  a  throat  near 
35° 


Eben  Holden 

me;.  It  grew  and  spread  to  a  mighty  roar  and 
then  such  a  shout  went  up  to  Heaven,  as  I  had 
never  heard,  and  as  I  know  full  well  I  shall 
never  hear  again.  It  was  like  the  riving  of 
thunderbolts  above  the  roar  of  floods — elemen- 
tal, prophetic,  threatening,  ungovernable.  It 
did  seem  to  me  that  the  holy  wrath  of  God  Al- 
mighty was  in  that  cry  of  the  people.  It  was 
a  signal.  It  declared  that  they  were  ready  to 
give  all  that  a  man  may  give  for  that  he  loves 
— his  life  and  things  far  dearer  to  him  than  his 
life.  After  that,  they  and  their  sons  begged  for 
a  chance  to  throw  themselves  into  the  hideous 
ruin  of  war. 

I  walked  slowly  back  to  the  office  and  wrote 
my  article.  When  the  Printer  came  in  at 
twelve  I  went  to  his  room  before  he  had  had 
time  to  begin  work. 

"  Mr.  Greeley,"  I  said,  "  here  is  my  resigna- 
tion.    I  am  going  to  the  war." 

His  habitual  smile  gave  way  to  a  sober  look 
as  he  turned  to  me,  his  big  white  coat  on  his 
arm.  He  pursed  his  lips  and  blew  thought- 
fully. Then  he  threw  his  coat  in  a  chair  and 
wiped  his  eyes  with  his  handkerchief. 

"  Well !  God  bless  you,  my  boy,"  he  said, 
"  I  wish  I  could  go,  too." 


35i 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII 

I  worked  some  weeks  before  my  regiment 
was  sent  forward.  I  planned  to  be  at  home 
for  a  day,  but  they  needed  me  on  the  staff,  and 
I  dreaded  the  pain  of  a  parting,  the  gravity  of 
which  my  return  would  serve  only  to  accentu- 
ate. So  I  wrote  them  a  cheerful  letter,  and 
kept  at  work.  It  was  my  duty  to  interview 
some  of  the  great  men  of  that  day  as  to  the 
course  of  the  government.  I  remember  Com- 
modore Vanderbilt  came  down  to  see  me  in 
shirt  sleeves  and  slippers  that  afternoon,  with 
a  handkerchief  tied  about  his  neck  in  place  of  a 
collar — a  blunt  man,  of  simple  manners  and  a 
big  heart;  one  who  spoke  his  mind  in  good, 
plain  talk,  and,  I  suppose,  he  got  along  with  as 
little  profanity  as  possible,  considering  his 
many  cares.  He  called  me  "  boy  "  and  spoke  of 
a  certain  public  man  as  a  "  big  sucker."  I  soon 
learned  that  to  him  a  "  sucker  "  was  the  lowest 
and  meanest  thing  in  the  world.  He  sent  me 
away  with  nothing  but  a  great  admiration  of 
him.  As  a  rule,  the  giants  of  that  day  were  plain 
men  of  the  people,  with  no  frills  upon  them, 
352 


Eben  Holden 

and  with  a  way  of  hitting  from  the  shoulder. 
They  said  what  they  meant  and  meant  it  hard. 
I  have  heard  Lincoln  talk  when  his  words  had 
the  whiz  of  a  bullet  and  his  arm  the  jerk  of  a 
piston. 

John  Trumbull  invited  McClingan,  of  whom 
I  had  told  him  much,  and  myself  to  dine  with 
him  an  evening  that  week.  I  went  in  my  new 
dress  suit — that  mark  of  sinful  extravagance 
for  which  Fate  had  brought  me  down  to  the 
pounding  of  rocks  under  Boss  McCormick. 
Trumbull's  rooms  were  a  feast  for  the  eye — 
aglow  with  red  roses.  He  introduced  me  to 
Margaret  Hull  and  her  mother,  who  were  there 
to  dine  with  us.  She  was  a  slight  woman  of 
thirty  then,  with  a  face  of  no  striking  beauty, 
but  of  singular  sweetness.  Her  dark  eyes  had 
a  mild  and  tender  light  in  them;  her  voice  a 
plaintive,  gentle  tone,  the  like  of  which  one 
may  hear  rarely  if  ever.  For  years  she  had 
been  a  night  worker  in  the  missions  of  the 
lower  city,  and  many  an  unfortunate  had  been 
turned  from  the  way  of  evil  by  her  good  offices. 
I  sat  beside  her  at  the  table,  and  she  told  me 
of  her  work  and  how  often  she  had  met  Trum- 
bull in  his  night  walks. 

"  Found  me  a  hopeless  heathen,"  he  re- 
marked. 

353 


Eben   Holden 

"  To  save  him  I  had  to  consent  to  marry 
him,"  she  said,  laughing. 

"  '  Who  hath  found  love  is  already  in 
Heaven,' '  said  McClingan.  "  I  have  not 
found  it  and  I  am  in  — "  he  hesitated,  as  if 
seaching  for  a  synonym. 

"  A  boarding  house  on  William  street,"  he 
added. 

The  remarkable  thing  about  Margaret  Hull 
was  her  simple  faith.  It  looked  to  no  glitter- 
ing generality  for  its  reward,  such  as  the  soul's 
"  highest  good  " — much  talked  of  in  the  philos- 
ophy of  that  time.  She  believed  that,  for  every 
soul  she  saved,  one  jewel  would  be  added  to 
her  crown  in  Heaven.  And  yet  she  wore  no 
jewel  upon  her  person.  Her  black  costume 
was  beautifully  fitted  to  her  fine  form,  but  was 
almost  severely  plain.  It  occurred  to  me  that 
she  did  not  quite  understand  her  own  heart, 
and,  for  that  matter,  who  does?  But  she  had 
somewhat  in  her  soul  that  passeth  all  under- 
standing— I  shall  not  try  to  say  what,  with  so 
little  knowledge  of  those  high  things,  save  that 
I  know  it  was  of  God.  To  what  patience  and 
unwearying  effort  she  had  schooled  herself  I 
was  soon  to  know. 

"Can  you  not  find  anyone  to  love  you?" 


354 


Eben  Holden 

she  said,  turning  to  McClingan.  "  You  know 
the  Bible  says  it  is  not  good  for  man  to  live 
alone." 

"  It  does,  Madame,"  said  he,  "  but  I  have  a 
mighty  fear  in  me,  remembering  the  twenty- 
fourth  verse  of  the  twenty-fifth  chapter  of 
Proverbs :  '  It  is  better  to  dwell  in  the  corner  of 
the  housetops  than  with  a  brawling  woman  in 
a  wide  house.'  We  cannot  all  be  so  fortunate 
as  our  friend  Trumbull.  But  I  have  felt  the 
great  passion." 

He  smiled  at  her  faintly  as  he  spoke  in  a 
quiet  manner,  'his  r's  coming  off  his  tongue  with 
a  stately  roll.  His  environment  and  the  com- 
pany had  given  him  a  fair  degree  of  stimula- 
tion. There  was  a  fine  dignity  in  his  deep 
voice,  and  his  body  bristled  with  it,  from  his 
stiff  and  heavy  shock  of  blonde  hair,  parted 
carefully  on  the  left  side,  to  his  high  heeled 
boots.  The  few  light  hairs  that  stood  in  lonely 
abandonment  on  his  upper  lip,  the  rest  of  his 
lean  visage  always  well  shorn,  had  no  small 
part  in  the  grand  effect  of  McClingan. 

"A  love  story!"  said  Miss  Hull.  "I  do 
wish  I  had  your  confidence.  I  like  a  real,  true 
love  story." 

"  A  simple  stawry  it  is,"  said  McClingan, 


355 


Eben   Holden 

"  and  I  am  proud  of  my  part  in  it.  I  shall 
be  glad  to  tell  the  stawry  if  you  are  to 
hear  it." 

We  assured  him  of  our  interest. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  "  there  was  one  Tom 
Douglass  at  Edinburgh  who  was  my  friend 
and  classmate.  We  were  together  a  good  bit 
of  the  time,  and  when  we  had  come  to  the  end 
of  our  course  we  both  went  to  engage  in  jour- 
nalism at  Glasgow.  We  had  a  mighty  conceit 
of  ourselves — you  know  how  it  is,  Brower, 
with  a  green  lad — but  we  were  a  mind  to  be 
modest,  with  all  our  learning,  so  we  made  an 
agreement :  I  would  blaw  his  horn  and  he  would 
blaw  mine.  We  were  not  to  lack  appreciation. 
He  was  on  one  paper  and  I  on  another,  and 
'every  time  he  wrote  an  article  I  went  up  and 
down  the  office  praising  him  for  a  man  o' 
mighty  skill,  and  he  did  the  same  for  me.  If 
anyone  spoke  of  him  in  my  hearing  I  said  every 
word  of  flattery  at  my  command.  '  What 
Tom  Douglass  ?  '  I  would  say,  '  the  man  o'  the 
Herald  that's  written  those  wonderful  articles 
from  the  law  court?  A  genius,  sir!  an  abso- 
lute genius!'  Well,  we  were  rapidly  gaining 
reputation.  One  of  those  days  I  found  myself 
in  love  with  as  comely  a  lass  as  ever  a  man 
courted.  Her  mother  had  a  proper  curiosity  as 
356 


Eben  Holden 

to  my  character.  I  referred  them  to  Tom 
Douglass  of  the  Herald — he  was  the  only  man 
there  who  had  known  me  well.  The  girl  and 
her  mother  both  went  to  him. 

" '  Your  friend  was  just  here,'  said  the 
young  lady,  when  I  called  again.  '  He  is  a 
very  handsome  man.' 

"  '  And  a  noble  man ! '  I  said. 

"  '  And  didn't  I  hear  you  say  that  he  was  a 
very  skillful  man,  too  ?  ' 

"  (A  genius ! '  I  answered,  '  an  absolute  ge- 
nius !  " 

McClingan  stopped  and  laughed  heartily  as 
he  took  a  sip  of  water. 

"  What  happened  then  ?  "  said  Miss  Hull. 

"  She  took  him  on  my  recommendation," 
he  answered.  "  She  said  that,  while  he  had  the 
handsomer  face,  I  had  the  more  eloquent 
tongue.  And  they  both  won  for  him.  And, 
upon  me  honor  as  a  gentleman,  it  was  the  luck- 
iest thing  that  ever  happened  to  me,  for  she 
became  a  brawler  and  a  scold.  My  mother 
says  there  is  '  no  the  like  o'  her  in  Scotland.' ' 

I  shall  never  forget  how  fondly  Margaret 
Hull  patted  the  brown  cheek  of  Trumbull  with 
her  delicate  white  hand,  as  we  rose. 

"  We  all  have  our  love  stawries,"  said  Mc- 
Clingan. 

357 


Eben  Holden 

"  Mine  is  better  than  yours,"  she  answered, 
"  but  it  shall  never  be  told." 

"  Except  one  little  part  if  it,"  said  Trumbull, 
as  he  put  his  hands  upon  her  shoulders,  and 
looked  down  into  her  face.  "  It  is  the  only 
thing  that  has  made  my  life  worth  living." 

Then  she  made  us  to  know  many  odd  things 
about  her  work  for  the  children  of  misfortune 
— inviting  us  to  come  and  see  it  for  ourselves. 
We  were  to  go  the  next  evening. 

I  finished  my  work  at  nine  that  night  and 
then  we  walked  through  noisome  streets  and 
alleys — New  York  was  then  far  from  being  so 
clean  a  city  as  now — to  the  big  mission  house. 
As  we  came  in  at  the  door  we  saw  a  group  of 
women  kneeling  before  the  altar  at  the  far  end 
of  the  room,  and  heard  the  voice  of  Margaret 
Hull  praying — a  voice  so  sweet  and  tender  that 
we  bowed  our  heads  at  once,  and  listened 
while  it  quickened  the  life  in  us.  She  plead 
for  the  poor  creatures  about  her,  to  whom 
Christ  gave  always  the  most  abundant  pity, 
seeing  they  were  more  sinned  against  than  sin- 
ning. There  was  not  a  word  of  cant  in  her  pe- 
tition. It  was  full  of  a  simple,  unconscious 
eloquence,  a  higher  feeling  than  I  dare  try  to 
define.  And  when  it  was  over  she  had  won 
their  love  and  confidence  so  that  they  clung  to 
358 


Ebcn  Holdcn 

her  hands  and  kissed  them  and  wet  them  with 
their  tears.  She  came  and  spoke  to  us  presently, 
in  the  same  sweet  manner  that  had  charmed  us 
the  night  before — there  was  no  change  in  it. 
We  offered  to  walk  home  with  her,  but  she 
said  Trumbull  was  coming  at  twelve. 

"  So  that  is  '  The  Little  Mother '  of  whom 
I  have  heard  so  often,"  said  McClingan,  as  we 
came  away. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  her?  "  I  inquired. 

"Wonderful  woman!"  he  said.  "I  never 
heard  such  a  voice.  It  gives  me  visions.  Every 
other  is  as  the  crackling  of  thorns  under  a  pot." 


I  came  back  to  the  office  and  went  into  Mr. 
Greeley's  room  to  bid  him  good-by.  He  stood 
by  the  gas  jet,  in  a  fine  new  suit  of  clothes, 
reading  a  paper,  while  a  boy  was  blacking  one 
of  his  boots.  I  sat  down,  awaiting  a  more  fa- 
vorable moment.  A  very  young  man  had 
come  into  the  room  and  stood  timidly  holding 
his  hat. 

"  I  wish  to  see  Mr.  Greeley,"  he  said. 

"  There  he  is,"  I  answered,  "  go  and  speak 
to  him." 

"  Mr.  Greeley,"  said  he,  "  I  have  called  to  see 
if  you  can  take  me  on  the  Tribune." 
359 


Eben  Holdcn 

The  Printer  continued  reading  as  if  he  were 
the  only  man  in  the  room. 

The  young  man  looked  at  him  and  then  at 
me — with  an  expression  that  moved  me  to  a 
fellow  feeling.  He  was  a  country  boy,  more 
green  and  timid  even  than  I  had  been. 

"  He  did  not  hear  you — try  again,"  I  said. 

"  Mr.  Greeley,"  said  he,  louder  than  before, 
"  I  have  called  to  see  if  you  can  take  me  on  the 
Tribune." 

The  editor's  eyes  glanced  off  at  the  boy  and 
returned  to  their  reading. 

"  No,  boy,  I  can't,"  he  drawled,  shifting  his 
eyes  to  another  article. 

And  the  boy,  who  was  called  to  the  service 
of  the  paper  in  time,  but  not  until  after  his  pen 
had  made  him  famous,  went  away  with  a  look 
of  bitter  disappointment. 

In  his  attire  Mr.  Greeley  wore  always  the 
best  material,  that  soon  took  on  a  friendless  and 
dejected  look.  The  famous  white  overcoat  had 
been  bought  for  five  dollars  of  a  man  who  had 
come  by  chance  to  the  office  of  the  New  Yorker, 
years  before,  and  who  considered  its  purchase 
a  great  favor.  That  was  a  time  when  the  price 
of  a  coat  was  a  thing  of  no  little  importance  to 
the  Printer.     To-night  there  was  about  him 


360 


Eben  Holden 

a  great  glow,  such  as  comes  of  fine  tailoring 
and  new  linen. 

He  was  so  preoccupied  with  his  paper  that 
went  out  into  the  big  room  and  sat  do\\ 
awaiting  a  better  time. 

"  The  Printer's  going  to  Washington  tc 
with  the  president,"  said  an  editor. 

Just  then  Mr.  Greeley  went  running  hurriedly 
up  the  spiral  stair  on  his  way  to  the  type  room. 
Three  or  four  compositors  had  gone  up  ahead 
of  him.  He  had  risen  out  of  sight  when  we 
heard  a  tremendous  uproar  above  stairs.  I 
ran  up,  two  steps  at  a  time,  while  the 
high  voice  of  Mr.  Greeley  came  pour- 
ing down  upon  me  like  a  flood.  It  had 
a  wild,  fleering  tone.  He  stood  near 
the  landing,  swinging  his  arms  and  swearing 
like  a  boy  just  learning  how.  In  the  middle 
of  the  once  immaculate  shirt  bosom  was  a  big, 
yellow  splash.  Something  had  fallen  on  him 
and  spattered  as  it  struck.  We  stood  well  out  of 
range,  looking  at  it,  undeniably  the  stain  of  nic- 
otine. In  a  voice  that  was  no  encouragement 
to  confession  he  dared  "  the  drooling  idiot  "  to 
declare  himself.  In  a  moment  he  opened  his 
waistcoat  and  surveyed  the  damage. 

"  Look  at  that !  "  he  went  on,  complainingly. 


361 


Eben  Holden 

"  Ugh !  The  reeking,  filthy,  slobbering  idiot ! 
I'd  rather  be  slain  with  the  jaw  bone  of  an 
ass. 

"  You'll  have  to  get  another  shirt,"  said  the 
pressman,  who  stood  near.  "  You  can't  go  to 
Washington  with  such  a  breast  pin." 

"  I'd  breast  pin  him  if  I  knew  who  he  was," 
said  the  editor. 

A  number  of  us  followed  him  down  stairs 
and  a  young  man  went  up  the  Bowery  for  a 
new  shirt.  When  it  came  the  Printer  took  off 
the  soiled  garment,  flinging  it  into  a  corner, 
and  I  helped  him  to  put  himself  in  proper  fettle 
again.  This  finished,  he  ran  away,  hurriedly, 
with  his  carpet  bag,  and  I  missed  the  oppor- 
tunity I  wanted  for  a  brief  talk  with  him. 


362 


CHAPTER  XXXIX 

My  regiment  left  New  York  by  night  in  a 
flare  of  torch  and  rocket.  The  streets  were  lined 
with  crowds  now  hardened  to  the  sound  of  fife 
and  drum  and  the  pomp  of  military  prepara- 
tion. I  had  a  very  high  and  mighty  feeling  in 
me  that  wore  away  in  the  discomfort  of  travel. 
For  hours  after  the  train  started  we  sang  and 
told  stories,  and  ate  peanuts  and  pulled  and 
hauled  at  each  other  in  a  cloud  of  tobacco 
smoke.  The  train  was  sidetracked  here  and 
there,  and  dragged  along  at  a  slow  pace.  Young 
men  with  no  appreciation,  as  it  seemed  to  me, 
of  the  sad  business  we  were  off  upon,  went 
roystering  up  and  down  the  aisles,  drinking  out 
of  bottles  and  chasing  around  the  train  as  it 
halted.  These  revelers  grew  quiet  as  the  night 
wore  on.  The  boys  began  to  close  their  eyes 
and  lie  back  for  rest.  Some  lay  in  the  aisle, 
their  heads  upon  their  knapsacks.  The  air 
grew  chilly  and  soon  I  could  hear  them  snoring 
all  about  me  and  the  chatter  of  frogs  in  the  near 
marshes.  I  closed  my  eyes  and  vainly  courted 
sleep.  A  great  sadness  had  lain  hold  of  me.  I 
363 


Eben   H olden 

had  already  given  up  my  life  for  my  country — I 
was  only  going  away  now  to  get  as  dear  a  price 
for  it  as  possible  in  the  blood  of  its  enemies. 
When  and  where  would  it  be  taken?  I  won- 
dered. The  fear  had  mostly  gone  out  of  me  in 
days  and  nights  of  solemn  thinking.  The  feel- 
ing I  had,  with  its  flavor  of  religion,  is  what  has 
made  the  volunteer  the  mighty  soldier  he 
has  ever  been,  I  take  it,  since  Naseby  and 
Marston  Moor.  The  soul  is  the  great  Captain, 
and  with  a  just  quarrel  it  will  warm  its  sword 
in  the  enemy,  however  he  may  be  trained  to 
thrust  and  parry.  In  my  sacrifice  there  was 
but  one  reservation — I  hoped  I  should  not  be 
horribly  cut  with  a  sword  or  a  bayonet.  I  had 
written  a  long  letter  to  Hope,  who  was  yet  at 
Leipsic.  I  wondered  if  she  would  care  what 
became  of  me.  I  got  a  sense  of  comfort  think- 
ing I  would  show  her  that  I  was  no  coward, 
with  all  my  littleness.  I  had  not  been  able  to 
write  to  Uncle  Eb  or  to  my  father  or  mother 
in  any  serious  tone  of  my  feeling  in  this  enter- 
prise. I  had  treated  it  as  a  kind  of  holiday, 
from  which  I  should  return  shortly  to  visit 
them. 

All  about  me  seemed  to  be  sleeping — some 

of  them  were  talking  in  their  dreams.     As  it 

grew  light,  one  after  another  rose  and  stretched 

himself,  rousing  his  seat  companion.   The  train 

364 


Eben  Holden 

halted ;  a  man  shot  a  musket  voice  in  at  the  car 
door.  It  was  loaded  with  the  many  syllables 
of  "  Annapolis  Junction."  We  were  pouring 
out  of  the  train  shortly,  to  bivouac  for  break- 
fast in  the  depot  yard.  So  I  began  the  life  of  a 
soldier,  and  how  it  ended  with  me  many  have 
read  in  better  books  than  this,  but  my  story  of 
it  is  here  and  only  here. 

We  went  into  camp  there  on  the  lonely  flats 
of  east  Maryland  for  a  day  or  two,  as  we  sup- 
posed, but  really  for  quite  two  weeks.  In  the 
long  delay  that  followed,  my  way  traversed  the 
dead  levels  of  routine.  When  Southern  sym- 
pathy had  ceased  to  wreak  its  wrath  upon  the 
railroads  about  Baltimore  we  pushed  on  to 
Washington.  There  I  got  letters  from  Uncle 
Eb  and  Elizabeth  Brower.  The  former  I  have 
now  in  my  box  of  treasures — a  torn  and  faded 
remnant  of  that  dark  period. 

"  Dear  Sir/'  it  said  (he  always  wrote  me  in 
this  formal  manner),  "  I  take  my  pen  in  hand 
to  lett  you  know  that  we  are  all  wel.  also  that 
we  was  sorry  you  could  not  come  horn.  They 
took  on  terribul.  Hope  she  wrote  a  letter. 
Said  she  had  not  herd  from  you.  also  that 
somebody  wrote  to  her  you  was  goin  to  be  mar- 
ried. You  had  oughter  write  her  a  letter,  Bill. 
Looks  to  me  so  you  haint  used  her  right.  Shes 
a  comin  horn  in  July.     Sowed  corn  to  day  in 

365 


Eben  Holden 

the  gardin.     David  is  off  byin  catul.     I  hope 
God  will  take  care  uv  you,  boy,  so  good  by  from 
yours  truly 

Eben  Holden. 

I  wrote  immediately  to  Uncle  Eb  and  told 
him  of  the  letters  I  had  sent  to  Hope,  and  of  my 
effort  to  see  her. 

Late  in  May,  after  Virginia  had  seceded, 
some  thirty  thousand  of  us  were  sent  over  to 
the  south  side  of  the  Potomac,  where  for  weeks 
we  tore  the  flowery  fields,  lining  the  shore  with 
long  entrenchments. 

Meantime  I  wrote  three  letters  to  Mr.  Gree- 
ley, and  had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  them  in 
the  Tribune.  I  took  much  interest  in  the  camp 
drill,  and  before  we  crossed  the  river  I  had  been 
raised  to  the  rank  of  first  lieutenant.  Every 
day  we  were  looking  for  the  big  army  of  Beau- 
regard, camping  below  Centreville,  some  thirty 
miles  south.  Almost  every  night  a  nervous 
picket  set  the  camp  in  uproar  by  challenging 
a  phantom  of  his  imagination.  We  were  all 
impatient  as  hounds  in  leash.  Since  they 
would  not  come  up  and  give  us  battle  we 
wanted  to  be  off  and  have  it  out  with  them. 
And  the  people  were  tired  of  delay.  The  cry 
of  "  ste'  boy !  "  was  ringing  all  over  the  north. 
366 


Eben  Holdcn 

They  wanted  to  cut  us  loose  and  be  through 
with  dallying. 

Well,  one  night  the  order  came;  we  were 
to  go  south  in  the  morning — thirty  thousand 
of  us,  and  put  an  end  to  the  war.  We  did 
not  get  away  until  afternoon — it  was  the 
1 6th  of  July.  When  we  were  off,  horse 
and  foot,  so  that  I  could  see  miles  of  the  blue 
column  before  and  behind  me,  I  felt  sorry  for 
the  mistaken  South.  On  the  evening  of  the 
1 8th  our  camp  fires  on  either  side  of  the  pike  at 
Centreville  glowed  like  the  lights  of  a  city.  We 
knew  the  enemy  was  near,  and  began  to  feel  a 
tightening  of  the  nerves.  I  wrote  a  letter  to 
the  folks  at  home  for  post  mortem  delivery, 
and  put  it  into  my  trousers' pocket.  A  friend 
in  my  company  called  me  aside  after  mess. 

"  Feel  of  that,"  he  said,  laying  his  hand  on  a 
full  breast. 

"  Feathers !"  he  whispered  significantly. 
"  Balls  can't  go  through  'em,  ye  know.  Bet- 
ter'n  a  steel  breastplate!     Want  some?  " 

"  Don't  know  but  I  do,"  said  I. 

We  went  into  his  tent,  where  he  had  a  little 
sack  full,  and  put  a  good  wad  of  them  between 
my  two  shirts. 

"  I  hate  the  idee  o'  bein'  hit  'n  the  heart,"  he 
said.     "  That's  too  awful." 
367 


Eben  Holden 

I  nodded  my  assent. 

"  Shouldn't  like  t'  have  a  ball  in  my  lungs, 
either,"  he  added.  "  'Tain't  necessary  fer  a 
man  t'  die  if  he  can  only  breathe.  If  a  man  gits 
his  leg  shot  off  an'  don't  lose  his  head  an'  keeps 
drawin'  his  breath  right  along  smooth  an  even, 
I  don't  see  why  he  can't  live." 

Taps  sounded.  We  went  asleep  with  our 
boots  on,  but  nothing  happened. 

Three  days  and  nights  we  waited.  Some 
called  it  a  farce,  some  swore,  some  talked  of 
going  home.  I  went  about  quietly,  my  bosom 
under  its  pad  of  feathers.  The  third  day  an 
order  came  from  headquarters.  We  were  to 
break  camp  at  one  thirty  in  the  morning  and  go 
down  the  pike  after  Beauregard.  In  the  dead 
of  the  night  the  drums  sounded.  I  rose,  half 
asleep,  and  heard  the  long  roll  far  and  near. 
I  shivered  in  the  cold  night  air  as  I  made  ready, 
the  boys  about  me  buckled  on  knapsacks,  shoul- 
dered their  rifles,  and  fell  into  line.  Muffled 
in  darkness  there  was  an  odd  silence  in  the 
great  caravan  forming  rapidly  and  waiting 
for  the  word  to  move.  At  each  command  to 
move  forward  I  could  hear  only  the  rub  of 
leather,  the  click,  click  of  rifle  rings,  the  stir 
of  the  stubble,  the  snorting  of  horses.  When 
we  had  marched  an  hour  or  so  I  could  hear 
368 


Eben  Holden 

the  faint  rumble  of  wagons  far  in  the  rear. 
As  I  came  high  on  a  hill  top,  in  the  bend- 
ing column,  the  moolight  fell  upon  a  league 
of  bayonets  shining  above  a  cloud  of  dust 
in  the  valley — a  splendid  picture,  fading 
into  darkness  and  mystery.  At  dawn  we 
passed  a  bridge  and  halted  some  three  minutes 
for  a  bite.  After  a  little  march  we  left  the 
turnpike,  with  Hunter's  column  bearing  west- 
ward on  a  crossroad  that  led  us  into  thick 
woods.  As  the  sunlight  sank  in  the  high  tree 
tops  the  first  great  battle  of  the  war  began. 
Away  to  the  left  of  us  a  cannon  shook  the 
earth,  hurling  its  boom  into  the  still  air.  The 
sound  rushed  over  us,  rattling  in  the  timber  like 
a  fall  of  rocks.  Something  went  quivering  in 
me.  It  seemed  as  if  my  vitals  had  gone  into  a 
big  lump  of  jelly  that  trembled  every  step  I 
took.  We  quickened  our  pace;  we  fretted,  we 
complained.  The  weariness  went  out  of  our 
legs;  some  wanted  to  run.  Before  and  behind 
us  men  were  shouting  hotly,  "Run,  boys! 
run !  "  The  cannon  roar  was  now  continuous. 
We  could  feel  the  quake  of  it.  When  we  came 
over  a  low  ridge,  in  the  open,  we  could  see  the 
smoke  of  battle  in  the  valley.  Flashes  of  fire 
and  hoods  of  smoke  leaped  out  of  the  far  thick- 
ets, left  of  us,  as  cannon  roared.  Going  at 
369 


Eben  Holden 

double  quick  we  began  loosening  blankets  and 
haversacks,  tossing  them  into  heaps  along  the 
line  of  march,  without  halting.  In  half  an  hour 
we  stood  waiting  in  battalions,  the  left  flank  of 
the  enemy  in  front.  We  were  to  charge  at  a 
run.  Half  way  across  the  valley  we  were  to 
break  into  companies  and,  advancing,  spread 
into  platoons  and  squads,  and  at  last  into  line 
of  skirmishers,  lying  down  for  cover  between 
rushes. 

"  Forward !  "  was  the  order,  and  we  were 
off,  cheering  as  we  ran.  O,  it  was  a  grand 
sight!  our  colors  flying,  our  whole  front  mov- 
ing like  a  blue  wave  on  a  green,  immeasurable 
sea.  And  it  had  a  voice  like  that  of  many 
waters.  Out  of  the  woods  ahead  of  us  came  a 
lightning  flash.  A  ring  of  smoke  reeled  up- 
ward. Then  came  a  deafening  crash  of  thun- 
ders— one  upon  another,  and  the  scream  of 
shells  overhead.  Something  stabbed  into  our 
column  right  beside  me.  Many  went  head- 
long, crying  out  as  they  fell.  Suddenly  the 
colors  seemed  to  halt  and  sway  like  a  tree  top 
in  the  wind.  Then  down  they  went! — squad 
and  colors — and  we  spread  to  pass  them.  At 
the  order  we  halted  and  laid  down  and  fired 
volley  after  volley  at  the  grey  coats  in  the  edge 
of  the  thicket.  A  bullet  struck  in  the  grass 
37o 


Eben  Holden 

ahead  of  me,  throwing-  a  bit  of  dirt  into  my 
eyes.  Another  brushed  my  hat  off  and  I  heard 
a  wailing  death  yell  behind  me.  The  colonel 
rode  up  waving  a  sword. 

"  Get  up  an'  charge!  "  he  shouted. 

On  we  went,  cheering  loudly,  firing  as  we 
ran.  Bullets  went  by  me  hissing  in  my  ears, 
and  I  kept  trying  to  dodge  them.  We  dropped 
again  flat  on  our  faces. 

A  squadron  of  black-horse  cavalry  came  rush- 
ing out  of  the  woods  at  us,  the  riders  yelling 
as  they  waved  their  swords.  Fortunately  we 
had  not  time  to  rise.  A  man  near  me  tried  to 
get  up. 

"  Stay  down !  "  I  shouted. 

In  a  moment  I  learned  something  new  about 
horses.  They  went  over  us  like  a  flash.  I  do 
not  think  a  man  was  trampled.  Our  own  cav- 
alry kept  them  busy  as  soon  as  they  had  passed. 

Of  the  many  who  had  started  there  was  only 
a  ragged  remnant  near  me.  We  fired  a  dozen 
volleys  lying  there.  The  man  at  my  elbow 
rolled  upon  me,  writhing  like  a  worm  in  the 
fire. 

"  We  shall  all  be  killed !  "  a  man  shouted. 
"  Where  is  the  colonel  ?  " 

"  Dead,"  said  another. 

"  Better  retreat,"  said  a  third. 
37i 


Eben   Holden 

"Charge!"  I  shouted  as  loudly  as  ever  I 
could,  jumpingto  my  feet  and  waving  my  sabre 
as  I  rushed  forward.     "  Charge !  " 

It  was  the  one  thing  needed — they  followed 
me.  In  a  moment  we  had  hurled  ourselves 
upon  the  grey  line  thrusting  with  sword  and 
bayonet.  They  broke  before  us — some  run- 
ning, some  fighting  desperately. 

A  man  threw  a  long  knife  at  me  out  of  a 
sling.  Instinctively  I  caught  the  weapon  as  if 
it  had  been  a  ball  hot  off  the  bat.  In  doing  so 
I  dropped  my  sabre  and  was  cut  across  the 
fingers.  He  came  at  me  fiercely,  clubbing  his 
gun — a  raw-boned,  swarthy  giant,  broad  as  a 
barn  door.  I  caught  the  barrel  as  it  came 
down.  He  tried  to  wrench  it  away,  but  I  held 
firmly.  Then  he  began  to  push  up  to  me.  I 
let  him  come,  and  in  a  moment  we  were  grap- 
pling hip  and  thigh.  He  was  a  powerful  man, 
but  that  was  my  kind  of  warfare.  It  gave  me 
comfort  when  I  felt  the  grip  of  his  hands.  I 
let  him  tug  a  jiffy,  and  then  caught  him  with 
the  old  hiplock,  and  he  went  under  me  so  hard 
I  could  hear  the  crack  of  his  bones.  Our  sup- 
port came  then.  We  made  him  prisoner,  with 
some  two  hundred  other  men.  Reserves  came 
also  and  took  away  the  captured  guns.     My 


372 


Eben  Holden 

comrades  gathered  about  me,  cheering,  but  I 
had  no  suspicion  of  what  they  meant.  I 
thought  it  a  tribute  to  my  wrestling.  Men  lay 
thick  there  back  of  the  guns — some  dead,  some 
calling  faintly  for  help.  The  red  puddles  about 
them  were  covered  with  flies;  ants  were  crawl- 
ing over  their  faces.  I  felt  a  kind  of  sickness 
and  turned  away.  What  was  left  of  my  regi- 
ment formed  in  fours  to  join  the  advancing 
column.  Horses  were  galloping  riderless,  rein 
and  stirrup  flying,  some  horribly  wounded. 
One  hobbled  near  me,  a  front  leg  gone  at  the 
knee.  Shells  were  flying  overhead;  cannon 
balls  were  richochetting  over  the  level  valley, 
throwing  turf  in  the  air,  tossing  the  dead  and 
wounded  that  lay  thick  and  helpless. 

Some  were  crumpled  like  a  rag,  as  if  the  pain 
of  death  had  withered  them  in  their  clothes; 
some  swollen  to  the  girth  of  horses;  some  bent 
backward,  with  arms  outreaching  like  one  try- 
ing an  odd  trick;  some  lay  as  if  listening  ea- 
gerly, an  ear  close  to  the  ground;  some  like  a 
sleeper,  their  heads  upon  their  arms;  one 
shrieked  loudly,  gesturing  with  bloody  hands, 
"  Lord  God  Almighty,  have  mercy  on  me !  " 

I  had  come  suddenly  to  a  new  world,  where 
the  lives  of  men  were  cheaper  than  blind  pup- 


373 


Eben  Holden 

pies.  I  was  a  new  sort  of  creature,  and  reck- 
less of  what  came,  careless  of  all  I  saw  and 
heard. 

A  staff  officer  stepped  up  to  me  as  we  joined 
the  main  body. 

'  You've  been  shot,  young  man,"  he  said, 
pointing  to  my  left  hand. 

Before  he  could  turn  I  felt  a  rush  of  air  and 
saw  him  fly  into  pieces,  some  of  which  hit  me 
as  I  fell  backward.  I  did  not  know  what  had 
happened ;  I  know  not  now  more  than  that  I 
have  written.  I  remember  feeling  something 
under  me,  like  a  stick  of  wood,  bearing  hard 
upon  my  ribs.  I  tried  to  roll  off  it,  but  some- 
how, it  was  tied  to  me  and  kept  hurting.  I  put 
my  hand  over  my  hip  and  felt  it  there  behind 
me — my  own  arm !  The  hand  was  like  that  of 
a  dead  man — cold  and  senseless.  I  pulled  it 
from  under  me  and  it  lay  helpless;  it  could  not 
lift  itself.  I  knew  now  that  I,  too,  had  become 
one  of  the  bloody  horrors  of  the  battle. 

I  struggled  to  my  feet,  weak  and  trembling, 
and  sick  with  nausea.  I  must  have  been  lying 
there  a  long  time.  The  firing  was  now  at  a  dis- 
tance: the  sun  had  gone  half  down  the  sky. 
They  were  picking  up  the  wounded  in  the  near 
field.     A  man  stood  looking  at  me.     "  Good 


374 


Eben   Holden 

God!  "  he  shouted,  and  then  ran  away  like  one 
afraid.  There  was  a  great  mass  of  our  men 
back  of  me  some  twenty  rods.  I  staggered 
toward  them,  my  knees  quivering. 

"  I  can  never  get  there,"  I  heard  myself 
whisper. 

I  thought  of  my  little  flask  of  whiskey,  and, 
pulling  the  cork  with  my  teeth,  drank  the 
half  ot  it.  That  steadied  me  and  I  made  better 
headway.  I  could  hear  the  soldiers  talking  as 
I  neared  them. 

"Look  a  there!"  I  heard  many  saying. 
"  See  'em  come !  My  God !  Look  at  'em  on 
the  hill   there!  " 

The  words  went  quickly  from  mouth  to 
mouth.  In  a  moment  I  could  hear  the  murmur 
of  thousands.  I  turned  to  see  what  they  were 
looking  at.  Across  the  valley  there  was  a  long 
ridge,  and  back  of  it  the  main  position  of  the 
Southern  army.  A  grey  host  was  pouring 
over  it — thousand  upon  thousand — in  close  or- 
der, debouching  into  the  valley. 

A  big  force  of  our  men  lay  between  us  and 
them.  As  I  looked  I  could  see  a  mighty  stir  in 
it.  Every  man  of  them  seemed  to  be  jumping 
up  in  the  air.  From  afar  came  the  sound  of 
bugles  calling  "  retreat,"  the  shouting  of  men, 


375 


Eben  Holden 

the  rumbling  of  wagons.  It  grew  louder. 
An  officer  rode  by  me  hatless,  and  halted,  shad- 
ing his  eyes.     Then  he  rode  back  hurriedly. 

"  Hell  has  broke  loose!  "  he  shouted,  as  he 
passed  me. 

The  blue-coated  host  was  rushing  toward  us 
like  a  flood — artillery,  cavalry,  infantry,  wagon 
train.  There  was  a  mighty  uproar  in  the  men 
behind  me — a  quick  stir  of  feet.  Terror  spread 
over  them  like  the  traveling  of  fire.  It  shook 
their  tongues.  The  crowd  began  caving  at 
the  edge  and  jamming  at  the  centre.  Then  it 
spread  like  a  swarm  of  bees  shaken  off  a  bush. 

"  Run !  Run  for  your  lives !  "  was  a  cry 
that  rose  to  heaven. 

"  Halt,  you  cowards !  "  an  officer  shouted. 

It  was  now  past  three  o'clock. 

The  raw  army  had  been  on  its  feet  since  mid- 
night. For  hours  it  had  been  fighting  hunger, 
a  pain  in  the  legs,  a  quivering  sickness  at  the 
stomach,  a  stubborn  foe.  It  had  turned  the 
flank  of  Beauregard;  victory  was  in  sight.  But 
lo !  a  new  enemy  was  coming  to  the  fray,  innu- 
merable, unwearied,  eager  for  battle.  The 
long  slope  bristled  with  his  bayonets.  Our 
army  looked  and  cursed  and  began  letting  go. 
The  men  near  me  were  pausing  on  the  brink  of 
awful  rout.  In  a  moment  they  were  ofif,  pell 
376 


Eben  Holden 

mell,  like  a  flock  of  sheep.  The  earth  shook 
under  them.  Officers  rode  around  them,  curs- 
ing, gesticulating,  threatening,  but  nothing 
could  stop  them.  Half  a  dozen  trees  had  stood 
in  the  centre  of  the  roaring  mass.  Now  a  few 
men  clung  to  them — a  remnant  of  the  monster 
that  had  torn  away.  But  the  greater  host  was 
now  coming.  The  thunder  of  its  many  feet 
was  near  me;  a  cloud  of  dust  hung  over  it.  A 
squadron  of  cavalry  came  rushing  by  and  broke 
into  the  fleeing  mass.  Heavy  horses,  cut  free 
from  artillery,  came  galloping  after  them, 
straps  flying  over  foamy  flanks.  Two  riders 
clung  to  the  back  of  each,  lashing  with  whip 
and  rein.  The  ruck  of  wagons  came  after 
them,  wheels  rattling,  horses  running,  voices 
shrilling  in  a  wild  hoot  of  terror.  It  makes 
me  tremble  even  now,  as  I  think  of  it,  though 
it  is  muffled  under  the  cover  of  nearly  forty 
years !  I  saw  they  would  go  over  me.  Reel- 
ing as  if  drunk,  I  ran  to  save  myself.  Zigzag- 
ging over  the  field  I  came  upon  a  grey  bearded 
soldier  lying  in  the  grass  and  fell  headlong. 
I  struggled  madly,  but  could  not  rise  to  my  feet. 
I  lay,  my  face  upon  the  ground,  weeping  like  a 
woman.  Save  I  be  lost  in  hell,  I  shall  never 
know  again  the  bitter  pang  of  that  moment.  I 
thought  of  my  country.  I  saw  its  splendid 
377 


Eben  Holden 

capital  in  ruins;  its  people  surrendered  to  God's 
enemies. 

The  rout  of  wagons  had  gone  by;  I  could 
now  hear  the  heavy  tramp  of  thousands  passing 
me,  the  shrill  voices  of  terror.  I  worked  to 
a  sitting  posture  somehow — the  effort  nearly 
smothered  me.  A  mass  of  cavalry  was  bear- 
ing down  upon  me.  They  were  coming  so 
thick  I  saw  they  would  trample  me  into  jelly. 
In  a  flash  I  thought  of  what  Uncle  Eb  had  told 
me  once.  I  took  my  hat  and  covered  my  face 
quickly,  and  then  uncovered  it  as  they  came 
near.  They  sheared  away  as  I  felt  the  foam  of 
their  nostrils.  I  had  split  them  as  a  rock  may 
split  the  torrent.  The  last  of  them  went  over 
me — their  tails  whipping  my  face.  I  shall  not 
soon  forget  the  look  of  their  bellies  or  the  smell 
of  their  wet  flanks.  They  had  no  sooner 
passed  than  I  fell  back  and  rolled  half  over  like 
a  log.  I  could  feel  a  warm  flow  of  blood  trick- 
ling down  my  left  arm.  A  shell,  shot  at  the  re- 
treating army,  passed  high  above  me,  whining 
as  it  flew.  Then  my  mind  went  free  of  its 
trouble.  The  rain  brought  me  to  as  it  came 
pelting  down  upon  the  side  of  my  face.  I  won- 
dered what  it  might  be,  for  I  knew  not  where  I 
had  come.  I  lifted  my  head  and  looked  to  see 
a  new  dawn — possibly  the  city  of  God  it- 
378 


Eben  Holden 

self.  It  was  dark — so  dark  I  felt  as  if  I  had  no 
eyes.  Away  in  the  distance  I  could  hear  the 
beating  of  a  drum.  It  rang  in  a  great  silence 
— I  have  never  known  the  like  of  it.  I  could 
hear  the  fall  and  trickle  of  the  rain,  but  it 
seemed  only  to  deepen  the  silence.  I  felt  the 
wet  grass  under  my  face  and  hands.  Then  I 
knew  it  was  night  and  the  battlefield  where  I 
had  fallen.  I  was  alive  and  might  see  another 
day — thank  God!  I  felt  something  move  un- 
der my  feet.   I  heard  a  whisper  at  my  shoulder. 

"  Thought  you  were  dead  long  ago,"  it  said. 

"  No  no,"  I  answered,  "  I'm  alive — I  know 
I'm  alive — this  is  the  battlefield." 

"  'Fraid  I  ain't  goin'  t'  live,"  he  said. 
"  Got  a  terrible  wownd.  Wish  it  was  morn- 
ing." 

"Dark  long?"  I  asked. 

"  For  hours,"  he  answered.  "  Dunno  how 
many." 

He  began  to  groan  and  utter  short  prayers. 

"  O,  my  soul  waiteth  for  the  Lord  more  than 
they  that  watch  for  the  morning,"  I  heard  him 
cry  in  a  loud,  despairing  voice. 

Then  there  was  a  bit  of  silence,  in  which  I 
could  hear  him  whispering  of  his  home  and 
people. 

Presently  he  began  to  sing: 
379 


Eben  Holden 

"  Guide  me  O  thou  great  Jehovah  ! 
Pilgrim   through   this   barren   land 
I  am  weak  but  thou  art  mighty — " 

His  voice  broke  and  trembled  and  sank  into 
silence. 

I  had  business  of  my  own  to  look  after — per- 
haps I  had  no  time  to  lose — and  I  went  about  it 
calmly.  I  had  no  strength  to  move  and  began 
to  feel  the  nearing  of  my  time.  The  rain  was 
falling  faster.  It  chilled  me  to  the  marrow  as 
I  felt  it  trickling  over  my  back.  I  called  to 
the  man  who  lay  beside  me — again  and  again 
I  called  to  him — but  got  no  answer.  Then  I 
knew  that  he  was  dead  and  I  alone.  Long  after 
that  in  the  far  distance  I  heard  a  voice  calling. 
It  rang  like  a  trumpet  in  the  still  air.  It  grew 
plainer  as  I  listened.  My  own  name !  William 
Brower?  It  was  certainly  calling  to  me,  and 
I  answered  with  a  feeble  cry.  In  a  moment  I 
could  hear  the  tramp  of  some  one  coming.  He 
was  sitting  beside  me  presently,  whoever  it 
might  be.  I  could  not  see  him  for  the  dark. 
His  tongue  went  clucking  as  if  he  pitied  me. 

"Who  are  you?"  I  remember  asking,  but 
got  no  answer. 

At  first  I  was  glad,  then  I  began  to  feel  a 
mighty  horror  of  him. 


380 


Eben  Holden 

In  a  moment  he  had  picked  me  up  and  was 
making  off.  The  jolt  of  his  step  seemed  to  be 
breaking  my  arms  at  the  shoulder.  As  I 
groaned  he  ran.  I  could  see  nothing  in 
the  darkness,'  but  he  went  ahead,  never  stop- 
ping, save  for  a  moment,  now  and  then,  to  rest. 
I  wondered  where  he  was  taking  me  and  what 
it  all  meant.  I  called  again,  "  Who  are  you  ?  " 
but  he  seemed  not  to  hear  me.  "  My  God!  "  I 
whispererd  to  myself,  "  this  is  no  man — this  is 
Death  severing  the  soul  from  the  body.  The 
voice  was  that  of  the  good  God."  Then  I  heard 
a  man  hailing  near  by. 

"  Help,  Help !  "  I  shouted  faintly. 

"Where  are  you?"  came  the  answer,  now 
further  away.     "  Can't  see  you." 

My  mysterious  bearer  was  now  running. 
My  heels  were  dragging  upon  the  ground;  my 
hands  were  brushing  the  grass  tops.  I  groaned 
with  pain. 

"  Halt!  Who  comes  there?  "  a  picket  called. 
Then  I  could"  hear  voices. 

"Did  you  hear  that  noise?"  said  one. 
"  Somebody  passed  me.  So  dark  can't  see  my 
hand  before  me." 

"  Darker  than  hell !  "  said  another  voice. 

It  must  be  a  giant,  I  thought,  who  can  pick 


3^ 


Eben  Holden 

me  up  and  carry  me  as  if  I  were  no  bigger  than 
a  house  cat.  That  was  what  I  was  thinking 
when  I  swooned. 

From  then  till  I  came  to  myself  in  the  little 
church  at  Centreville  I  remember  nothing. 
Groaning  men  lay  all  about  me;  others  stood 
between  them  with  lanterns.  A  woman  was 
bending  over  me.  I  felt  the  gentle  touch  of 
her  hand  upon  my  face  and  heard  her  speak  to 
me  so  tenderly  I  cannot  think  of  it,  even 
now,  without  thanking  God  for  good  women. 
I  clung  to  her  hand,  clung  with  the  energy  of 
one  drowning,  while  I  suffered  the  merciful 
torture  of  the  probe,  the  knife  and  the  needle. 
And  when  it  was  all  over  and  the  lantern  lights 
grew  pale  in  the  dawn  I  fell  asleep. 

But  enough  of  blood  and  horror.  War  is  no 
holiday,  my  merry  people,  who  know  not  the 
mighty  blessing  of  peace.  Counting  the  cost, 
let  us  have  war,  if  necessary,  but  peace,  peace 
if  possible. 


38* 


CHAPTER  XL 

But  now  I  have  better  things  to  write  of — 
things  that  have  some  relish  of  good  in  them. 
I  was  very  weak  and  low  from  loss  of  blood 
for  days,  and,  suddenly,  the  tide  turned.  I  had 
won  recognition  for  distinguished  gallantry 
they  told  me — that  day  they  took  me  to  Wash- 
ington. I  lay  three  weeks  there  in  the  hospital. 
As  soon  as  they  heard  of  my  misfortune  at 
home  Uncle  Eb  wrote  he  was  coming  to  see  me. 
I  stopped  him  by  a  telegram,  assuring  him  that 
I  was  nearly  well  and  would  be  home  shortly. 

My  term  of  enlistment  had  expired  when 
they  let  me  out  a  fine  day  in  mid  August.  I 
was  going  home  for  a  visit  as  sound  as  any  man 
but,  in  the  horse  talk  of  Faraway,  I  had  a  little 
"  blemish  "  on  the  left  shoulder.  Uncle  Eb 
was  to  meet  me  at  the  Jersey  City  depot.  Be- 
fore going  I,  with  others  who  had  been  com- 
plimented for  bravery,  went  to  see  the  president. 
There  were  some  twenty  of  us  summoned  to 
meet  him  that  day.  It  was  warm  and  the  great 
Lincoln  sat  in  his  shirt  sleeves  at  a  desk  in  the 
3*3 


Eben  Holden 

middle  of  his  big  office.  He  wore  a  pair  of 
brown  carpet  slippers,  the  rolling  collar  and 
black  stock  now  made  so  familiar  in  print. 
His  hair  was  tumbled.  He  was  writing  hur- 
riedly when  we  came  in.  He  laid  his  pen  away 
and  turned  to  us  without  speaking.  There 
was  a  careworn  look  upon  his  solemn  face. 

"  Mr.  President,"  said  the  general,  who  had 
come  with  us.  "  Here  are  some  of  the  brave 
men  of  our  army,  whom  you  wished  to  see." 

He  came  and  shook  hands  with  each  and 
thanked  us  in  the  name  of  the  republic,  for  the 
example  of  courage  and  patriotism  we  and 
many  others  had  given  to  the  army.  He  had 
a  lean,  tall,  ungraceful  figure  and  he  spoke  his 
mind  without  any  frill  or  flourish.  He  said 
only  a  few  words  of  good  plain  talk  and  was 
done  with  us. 

"  Which  is  Brower?  "  he  inquired  presently. 

I  came  forward  more  scared  than  ever  I  had 
been  before. 

"  My  son,"  he  said,  taking  my  hand  in  his, 
"  why  didn't  you  run  ?  " 

"  Didn't  dare,"  I  answered.  "  I  knew  it  was 
more  dangerous  to  run  away  than  to  go  for- 
ward." 

"  Reminds  me  of  a  story,"  said  he  smiling. 
"  Years  ago  there  was  a  bully  in  Sangamon 
384 


Eben   Holden 

County,  Illinois,  that  had  the  reputation  of 
running  faster  and  fighting  harder  than  any 
man  there.  Every  body  thought  he  was  a 
terrible  fighter.  He'd  always  get  a  man  on  the 
run;  then  he'd  ketch  up  and  give  him  a  licking. 
One  day  he  tackled  a  lame  man.  The  lame  man 
licked  him  in  a  minute. 

"  'Why  didn't  ye  run  ?  '  somebody  asked  the 
victor. 

"  '  Didn't  dast,'  said  he.  '  Run  once  when 
he  tackled  me  an  I've  been  lame  ever  since.' 

"  '  How  did  ye  manage  to  lick  him?  '  said  the 
other. 

"  '  Wall/  said  he,  '  I  hed  to,  an'  I  done  it 
easy.' 

"  That's  the  way  it  goes,"  said  the  immortal 
president,  "  ye  do  it  easy  if  ye  have  to." 

He  reminded  me  in  and  out  of  Horace 
Greeley,  although  they  looked  no  more  alike 
than  a  hawk  and  a  hand  saw.  But  they  had  a 
like  habit  of  forgetting  themselves  and  of  say- 
ing neither  more  nor  less  than  they  meant. 
They  both  had  the  strength  of  an  ox  and  as  little 
vanity.  Mr.  Greeley  used  to  say  that  no  man 
could  amount  to  anything  who  worried  much 
about  the  fit  of  his  trousers;  neither  of  them 
ever  encountered  that  obstacle. 

Early  next  morning  I  took  a  train  for  home. 
385 


Eben  Holden 

I  was  in  soldier  clothes — I  had  with  me  no 
others — and  all  in  my  car  came  to  talk  with  me 
about  the  now  famous  battle  of  Bull  Run. 

The  big  platform  at  Jersey  City  was  crowded 
with  many  people  as  we  got  off  the  train. 
There  were  other  returning  soldiers — some 
with  crutches,  some  with  empty  sleeves. 

A  band  at  the  further  end  of  the  platform 
was  playing  and  those  near  me  were  singing  the 
familiar  music, 

"John  Brown's  body  lies  a  mouldering  in  the  grave." 

Somebody  shouted  my  name.  Then  there 
rose  a  cry  of  three  cheers  for  Brower.  It's 
some  of  the  boys  of  the  Tribune,  I  thought — I 
could  see  a  number  of  them  in  the  crowd.  One 
brought  me  a  basket  of  flowers.  I  thought 
they  were  trying  to  have  fun  with  me. 

"  Thank  you !  "  said  I,  "  but  what  is  the 
joke?" 

"  No  joke,"  he  said,  "  It's  to  honor  a  hero." 

"  O  you  wish  me  to  give  it  to  somebody." 

I  was  warming  with  embarrassment. 

"  We  wish  you  to  keep  it,"  he  answered. 

In  accounts  of  the  battle  I  had  seen  some 
notice  of  my  leading  a  charge  but  my  fame  had 
gone  farther — much  farther  indeed — than  I 
knew.     I  stood  a  moment  laughing — an  odd 


Eben  Holden 

sort  of  laugh  it  was  that  had  in  it  the  salt  of 
tears — and  waving  my  hand  to  the  many  who 
were  now  calling  my  name. 

In  the  uproar  of  cheers  and  waving  of  hand- 
kerchiefs I  could  not  find  Uncle  Eb  for  a  mo- 
ment. When  I  saw  him  in  the  breaking  crowd 
he  was  cheering  lustily  and  waving  his  hat 
above  his  head.  His  enthusiasm  increased 
when  I  stood  before  him.  As  I  was  greeting 
him  I  heard  a  lively  rustle  of  skirts.  Two 
dainty,  gloved  hands  laid  hold  of  mine;  a  sweet 
voice  spoke  my  name.  There,  beside  me,  stood 
the  tall,  erect  figure  of  Hope.  Our  eyes  met 
and,  before  there  was  any  thinking  of  propriety, 
I  had  her  in  my  arms  and  was  kissing  her  and 
she  was  kissing  me. 

It  thrilled  me  to  see  the  splendor  of  her 
beauty  that  day;  her  eyes  wet  with  feeling  as 
they  looked  up  at  me;  to  feel  again  the  trem- 
bling touch  of  her  lips.  In  a  moment  I  turned 
to  Uncle  Eb. 

"  Boy,"  he  said,  "  I  thought  you — "  and  then 
he  stopped  and  began  brushing  his  coat  sleeve. 

"  Come  on  now,"  he  added  as  he  took  my 
grip  away  from  me.  "  We're  goin'  t'  hev  a 
gran'  good  time.  I'll  take  ye  all  to  a  splendid 
tavern  somewheres.  An'  I  aint  goin'  t'  count 
the  cost  nuther." 

387 


Eben   Holden 

He  was  determined  to  carry  my  grip  for  me. 
Hope  had  a  friend  with  her  who  was  going 
north  in  the  morning  on  our  boat.  We  crossed 
the  ferry  and  took  a  Broadway  omnibus,  while 
query  followed  query. 

"  Makes  me  feel  like  a  flapjack  t'  ride  'n  them 
things,"  said  Uncle  Eb  as  we  got  out. 

He  hired  a  parlor  and  two  bedrooms  for  us 
all  at  the  St.  Nicholas. 

"  Purty  middlin'  steep!"  he  said  to  me  as 
we  left  the  office.  "  It  is,  sartin !  but  I  don't 
care — not  a  bit.  When  folks  has  t'  hev  a  good 
time  they've  got  t'  hev  it." 

We  were  soon  seated  in  our  little  parlor. 
There  was  a  great  glow  of  health  and  beauty  in 
Hope's  face.  It  was  a  bit  fuller  but  had  nobler 
outlines  and  a  coloring  as  delicate  as  ever.  She 
wore  a  plain  grey  gown  admirably  fitted  to  her 
plump  figure.  There  was  a  new  and  splendid 
dignity  in  her  carriage,  her  big  blue  eyes,  her 
nose  with  its  little  upward  slant.  She  was  now 
the  well  groomed  young  woman  of  society  in 
the  full  glory  of  her  youth. 

Uncle  Eb  \\  ho  sat  between  us  pinched  her 
cheek  playfully.  A  little  spot  of  white  showed 
a  moment  where  his  fingers  had  been.  Then 
the  pink  flooded  over  it. 


388 


Eben   Holden 

"  Never  see  a  girl  git  such  a  smack  as  you 
did,"  he  said  laughing. 

"  Well,"  said  she,  smiling,  "  I  guess  I  gave 
as  good  as  I  got." 

"  Served  him  right,"  he  said.  "  You  kissed 
back  good  'n  hard.  Gran'  sport !  "  he  added 
turning  to  me. 

"  Best  I  ever  had,"  was  my  humble  acknowl- 
edgment. 

"  Seldom  ever  see  a  girl  kissed  so  powerful," 
he  said  as  he  took  Hope's  hand  in  his.  "  Now 
if  the  Bible  said  when  a  body  kissed  ye  on  one 
cheek  ye  mus'  turn  t'  other  I  wouldn't  find  no 
fault.  But  ther's  a  heap  o'  differ'nce  'tween  a 
whack  an'  a  smack." 

When  we  had  come  back  from  dinner  Uncle 
Eb  drew  off  his  boots  and  sat  comfortably  in  his 
stocking  feet  while  Hope  told  of  her  travels 
and  I  of  my  soldiering.  She  had  been  at  the 
Conservatory,  nearly  the  whole  period  of  her 
absence,  and  hastened  home  when  she  learned 
of  the  battle  and  of  my  wound.  She  had 
landed  two  days  before. 

Hope's  friend  and  Uncle  Eb  went  away  to 
their  rooms  in  good  season.  Then  I  came  and 
sat  beside  Hope  on  the  sofa. 

"  Let's  have  a  good  talk."  I  said. 


389 


Eben   Holden 

There  was  an  awkward  bit  of  silence. 

"  Well,"  said  she,  her  fan  upon  her  lips, 
"  tell  me  more  about  the  war." 

"  Tired  of  war,"  I  answered;  "  love  is  a 
better  subject." 

She  rose  and  walked  up  and  down  the  room, 
a  troubled  look  in  her  face.  I  thought  I  had 
never  seen  a  woman  who  could  carry  her  head 
so  proudly. 

"  I  don't  think  you  are  very  familiar  with 
it,"  said  she  presently. 

"  I  ought  to  be,"  I  answered,  "  having  loved 
you  all  these  years." 

"  But  you  told  me  that — that  you  loved 
another  girl,"  she  said,  her  elbow  leaning  on 
the  mantel,  her  eyes  looking  down  soberly. 

"When?     Where?"  I  asked. 

"  In  Mrs.  Fuller's  parlor." 

"  Hope,"  I  said,  "  you  misunderstood  me;  I 
meant  you." 

She  came  toward  me,  then,  looking  up  into 
my  eyes.  I  started  to  embrace  her  but  she 
caught  my  hands  and  held  them  apart  and  came 
close  to  me. 

"Did  you  say  that  you  meant  me?"  she 
asked  in  a  whisper. 

"  I  did." 

"  Why  did  you  not  tell  me  that  night?  " 
39° 


Eben  Holden 

"  Because  you  would  not  listen  to  me  and  we 
were  interrupted." 

"  Well  if  I  loved  a  girl,"  she  said,  "  I'd  make 
her  listen." 

"  I  would  have  done  that  but  Mrs.  Fuller 
saved  you." 

"  You  might  have  written,"  she  suggested 
in  a  tone  of  injury. 

"  I  did." 

"  And  the  letter  never  came — just  as  I 
feared." 

She  looked  very  sober  and  thoughtful  then. 

"  You  know  our  understanding  that  day  in 
the  garden,"  she  added.  "  If  you  did  not  ask 
me  again  I  was  to  know  you — you  did  not  love 
me  any  longer.     That  was  long,  long  ago." 

"  I  never  loved  any  girl  but  you,"  I  said.  "  I 
love  you  now,  Hope,  and  that  is  enough — I  love 
you  so  there  is  nothing  else  for  me.  You  are 
dearer  than  my  life.  It  was  the  thought  of  you 
that  made  me  brave  in  battle.  I  wish  I  could 
be  as  brave  here.  But  I  demand  your  sur- 
render— I  shall  give  you  no  quarter  now." 

"  I  wish  I  knew,"  she  said.  "  whether — 
whether  you  really  love  me  or  not?  " 

"Don't  you  believe  me  Hope?" 

"  Yes  I  believe  you,"  she  said,   "  but — but 
you  might  not  know  your  own  heart." 
39i 


Eben  Holden 

"  It  longs  for  you,"  I  said,  "  it  keeps  me 
thinking  of  you  always.  Once  it  was  so  easy 
to  be  happy;  since  you  have  been  away  it  has 
seemed  as  if  there  were  no  longer  any  light  in 
the  world  or  any  pleasure.  It  has  made  me  a 
slave.  I  did  not  know  that  love  was  such  a 
mighty  thing." 

"  Love  is  no  Cupid — he  is  a  giant,"  she  said, 
her  voice  trembling  with  emotion  as  mine  had 
trembled.  "  I  tried  to  forget  and  he  crushed  me 
under  his  feet  as  if  to  punish  me." 

She  was  near  to  crying  now,  but  she  shut  her 
lips  firmly  and  kept  back  the  tears.  God  grant 
me  I  may  never  forget  the  look  in  her  eyes  that 
moment.  She  came  closer  to  me.  Our  lips 
touched;  my  arms  held  her  tightly. 

"  I  have  waited  long  for  this,"  I  said, — "  the 
happiest  moment  of  my  life!  I  thought  I  had 
lost  you." 

"  What  a  foolish  man,"  she  whispered.  "  I 
have  loved  you  for  years  and  years  and  you — 
you  could  not  see  it.     I  believe  now — " 

She  hesitated  a  moment,  her  eyes  so  close  to 
my  cheek  I  could  feel  the  beat  of  their  long 
lashes. 

"  That  God  made  you  for  me,"  she  added. 

"  Love  is  God's  helper,"  I  said.  "  He  made 
us  for  each  other." 

392 


Eben  Holden 

"I  thank  Him  for  it — I  do  love  you  so,"  she 
whispered. 

The  rest  is  the  old,  old  story.  They  that  have 
not  lived  it  are  to  be  pitied. 

When  we  sat  down  at  length  she  told  me 
what  I  had  long  suspected,  that  Mrs.  Fuller 
wished  her  to  marry  young  Livingstone. 

"  But  for  Uncle  Eb,"  she  added,  "  I  think  I 
should  have  done  so — for  I  had  given  up  all 
hope  of  you." 

"  Good  old  Uncle  Eb!  "  I  said.  "  Let's  go 
and  tell  him." 

He  was  sound  asleep  when  we  entered  his 
room  but  woke  as  I  lit  the  gas. 

"  What's  the  matter?  "  he  whispered,  lifting 
his  head. 

"  Congratulate  us,"  I  said.  "  We're  en- 
gaged." 

"  Hev  ye  conquered  her?"  he  inquired 
smiling. 

"  Love  has  conquered  us  both,"  I  said. 

"Wall,  I  swan!  is  thet  so?"  he  answered. 
"  Guess  I  won't  fool  away  any  more  time  here'n 
bed.  If  you  childern'll  go  in  t'  other  room 
I'll  slip  into  my  trousers  an'  then  ye  '11  hear  me 
talk  some  conversation." 

"  Beats  the  world !  "  he  continued,  coming 
in  presently,  buttoning  his  suspenders.  "  I 
393 


Eben  Holden 

thought  trios'  likely  ye'd  hitch  up  t'gether  some 
time.  'Tain't  often  ye  can  find  a  pair  s'  well 
matched.  The  same  style  an'  gaited  jest 
about  alike.     When  ye  goin'  t'  git  married?  " 

"  She  hasn't  named  the  day,"  I  said. 

"  Sooner  the  better,"  said  Uncle  Eb  as  he 
drew  on  his  coat  and  sat  down.  "  Used  t'  be 
so  t'  when  a  young  couple  hed  set  up'n  held 
each  other's  han's  a  few  nights  they  was  ready 
fer  the  minister.  Wish't  ye  could  fix  it  fer 
'bout  Crissmus  time,  by  Jingo!  They's  other 
things  goin'  t'  happen  then.  S'pose  yer  s' 
happy  now  ye  can  stan'  a  little  bad  news.  I've 
got  t'  tell  ye — David's  been  losin'  money. 
Hain't  never  wrote  ye  'bout  it — not  a  word — 
'cause  I  didn't  know  how  't  was  comin'  out." 

"  How  did  he  lose  it?  "  I  inquired. 

"  Wall  ye  know  that  Orv  Barker — runs  a 
hardware  store  in  Migleyville — he  sold  him  a 
patent  right.  Figgered  an'  argued  night  an' 
day  fer  more'n  three  weeks.  It  was  a  new  fan- 
gled  wash  biler.  David  he  thought  he  see  a 
chance  t'  put  out  agents  an'  make  a  great  deal 
o'  money.  It  did  look  jest  as  easy  as  slidin' 
down  hill  but  when  we  come  t'  slide — wall,  we 
found  out  we  was  at  the  bottom  o'  the  hill  'stid 
o'  the  top  an'  it  wan't  reel  good  slidin'.  He 
paid  five  thousan'  dollars  fer  the  right  o'  ten 
394 


Eben  Holden 

counties.  Then  bym  bye  Barker  he  wanted 
him  t'  go  security  fer  fifteen  hunderd  bilers  thet 
he  was  hevin'  made.  I  tol'  David  he  hedn't 
better  go  in  no  deeper  but  Barker,  he  promised 
big  things  an'  seemed  t'  be  sech  a  nice  man  'at 
fin'ly  David  he  up  'n  done  it.  Wall  he's  hed 
'em  t'  pay  fer  an'  the  fact  is  it  costs  s'  much  t' 
sell  'em  it  eats  up  all  the  profits." 

"  Looks  like  a  swindle,"  I  said  indignantly. 

"  No,"  said  Uncle  Eb,  "  'tain't  no  swindle. 
Barker  thought  he  hed  a  gran'  good  thing.  He 
got  fooled  an'  the  fool  complaint  is  very  ketch- 
in\  Got  it  myself  years  ago  an'  I've  been  doc- 
torin'  fer  it  ever  sence." 

The  story  of  David's  undoing  hurt  us  sorely. 
He  had  gone  the  way  of  most  men  who  left 
the  farm  late  in  life  with  unsatisfied  ambition. 

'  They  shall  never  want  for  anything,  so 
long  as  I  have  my  health,"  I  said. 

"  I  have  four  hundred  dollars  in  the  bank," 
said  Hope,  "  and  shall  give  them  every  cent  of 
it." 

"  Tain'  nuthin'  t'  worry  over,"  said  Uncle 
Eb.  "  If  I  don'  never  lose  more'n  a  little  money 
I  shan't  feel  terrible  bad.  We're  all  young 
yit.  Got  more'n  a  million  dollars  wuth  o'  good 
health  right  here  'n  this  room.  So  well,  I'm 
'shamed  uv  it!  Man's  more  decent  if  he's  a 
395 


Eben   Holden 

leetle  bit  sickly.  An'  thet  there  girl  Bill's 
agreed  t'  marry  ye!  Why!  'Druther  hev  her 
'n  this  hull  city  o'  New  York." 

"  So  had  I,"  was  my  answer. 

"  Wall,  you  ain'  no  luckier  'n  she  is — not 
a  bit,"  he  added.  "  A  good  man's  better  'n 
a  gol'  mine — ev'ry  time." 

"  Who  knows,"  said  Hope.  "  He  may  be 
president  some  day." 

"  Ther's  one  thing  I  hate,"  Uncle  Eb  contin- 
ued. "  That's  the  idee  o'  hevin'  the  woodshed 
an'  barn  an'  garret  full  o'  them  infernal  wash 
bilers.  Ye  can't  take  no  decent  care  uv  a  hoss 
there  'n  the  stable — they're  so  piled  up.  One 
uv  'em  tumbled  down  top  o'  me  t'other  day. 
'Druther  'twould  a  been  a  panther.  Made  me 
s'  mad  I  took  a  club  an'  knocked  that  biler 
into  a  cocked  hat.  'Tain't  right!  I'm  sick  o' 
the  sight  uv  'em." 

"  They'll  make  a  good  bonfire  some  day " 
said  Hope. 

"  Don't  believe  they'd  burn,"  he  answered 
sorrowfully,  "  they're  tin." 

"  Couldn't  we  bury  'em  ?  "  I  suggested. 

"  Be  a  purty  costly  funeral,"  he  answered 
thoughtfully.  '  Ye'd  hev  t'  dig  a  hole  deeper'n 
Tupper's  dingle." 


396 


Eben  Holden 

"  Couldn't   you  give   them   away  ?  "    I    in- 
quired. 

"  Wall,"  said  he,  helping  himself  to  a  chew 
of  tobacco,  "  we've  tried  thet.  Gin  'em  t' 
everybody  we  know  but  there  ain't  folks  enough 
— there's  such  a  slew  o'  them  bilers.  We 
could  give  one  t'  ev'ry  man,  woman  an'  child 
in  Faraway  an'  hev  enough  left  t'  fill  an  acre 
lot.  Dan  Perry  druv  in  t'other  day  with  a 
double  buggy.  We  gin  him  one  fer  his  own 
fam'ly.  It  was  heavy  t'  carry  an'  he  didn't 
seem  t'  like  the  looks  uv  it  someway.  Then 
I  asked  him  if  he  wouldn't  like  one  fer  his  girl. 
'  She  ain't  married,'  says  he.  '  She  will  be 
some  time,'  says  I,  '  take  it  along,'  so  he  put 
in  another.  '  You've  got  a  sister  over  on  the 
turnpike  hain't  ye  ?  '  says  I.  '  Yes,'  says  he. 
'  Wall,'  I  says,  'don'  want  a  hev  her  feel 
slighted.'  '  She  won't  know  'bout  my  hevin' 
'em,'  says  he,  lookin'  's  if  he'd  hed  enough. 
'  Yis  she  will,'  I  says,  '  she'll  hear  uv  it  an' 
mebbe  make  a  fuss.'  Then  we  piled  in  another. 
'  Look  here,'  I  says  after  that,  '  there's  yer 
brother  Bill  up  there  'bove  you.  Take  one 
along  fer  him.'  '  No,'  says  he,  '  I  don'  tell 
ev'ry  body,  but  Bill  an'  I  ain't  on  good  terms. 
We  ain't  spoke  fer  more'n  a  year.' 


397 


Eben   Holden 

"  Knew  he  was  lyin',"  Uncle  Eb  added  with 
a  laugh,  "  I'd  seen  him  talkin'  with  Bill  a  day 
er  two  before." 

"  Whew !  "  he  whistled  as  he  looked  at  his 
big  silver  watch.  "  I  declare  it's  nios'  one 
o'clock.  They's  jes'  one  other  piece  o'  busi- 
ness t'  come  before  this  meetin.'  Double  or 
single,  want  ye  t'  both  promise  me  t'  be  hum 
Crissmus." 

We  promised. 

"  Now  childern,"  said  he.  "  'S  time  t'  go 
t'  bed.  B'lieve  ye'd  stan'  there  swappin'  kisses 
'till  ye  was  knee  sprung  if  I  didn't  tell  ye  t' 
quit." 

Hope  came  and  put  her  arms  about  his  neck, 
fondly,  and  kissed  him  good  night. 

"  Did  Bill  prance  right  up  like  a  man?  "  he 
asked,  his  hand  upon  her  shoulder. 

"  Did  very  well,"  said  she,  smiling,"  for  a 
man  with  a  wooden  leg." 

Uncle  Eb  sank  into  a  chair,  laughing  heart- 
ily, and  pounding  his  knee. 

It  seemed  he  had  told  her  that  I  was  coming 
home  with  a  wooden  leg ! 

"  That  is  the  reason  I  held  your  arm,"  she 
said.  "  I  was  expecting  to  hear  it  squeak  ev- 
ery moment  as  we  left  the  depot.     But  when  I 


398 


Eben   Holden 

saw    that    you    walked    so    naturally    I  knew 
Uncle  Eb  had  been  trying  to  fool  me." 

"  Purty  good  sort  uv  a  lover,  ain't  he?  "  said 
he  after  we  were  done  laughing. 

"  He  wouldn't  take  no  for  an  answer,"  she 
answered. 

"  He  was  alwuss  a  gritty  cuss,"  said  Uncle 
Eb  wiping  his  eyes  with  a  big  red  handkerchief 
as  he  rose  to  go.  "  Ye'd  oughter  be  mighty 
happy  an'  ye  will,  too — their  ain'  no  doubt  uv 
it — not  a  bit.  Trouble  with  most  young  folks 
is  they  wan'  t'  fly  tew  high,  these  days.  If 
they'd  only  fly  clus  enough  t'  the  ground  so 
the  could  alwuss  touch  one  foot,  they'd  be  all 
right.      Glad  ye  ain't  thet  kind." 

We  were  off  early  on  the  boat — as  fine  a 
summer  morning  as  ever  dawned.  What  with 
the  grandeur  of  the  scenery  and  the  sublimity 
of  our  happiness  it  was  a  delightful  journey  we 
had  that  day.  I  felt  the  peace  and  beauty  of 
the  fields,  the  majesty  of  the  mirrored  cliffs  and 
mountains,  but  the  fair  face  of  her  I  loved  was 
enough  for  me.  Most  of  the  day  Uncle  Eb 
sat  near  us  and  I  remember  a  woman  evangelist 
came  and  took  a  seat  beside  him,  awhile,  talking 
volubly  of  the  scene. 

"  My  friend,"  said  she  presently,  "  are  you 
a  Christian  ?  " 

399 


Eben  Holden 

"  'Fore  I  answer  I'll  hev  t'  tell  ye  a  story," 
said  Uncle  Eb.  "  I  recollec'  a  man  by  the  name 
o'  Ranney  over'n  Vermont — he  was  a  pious 
man.  Got  into  an  argyment  an'  a  feller  slapped 
him  in  the  face.  Ranney  turned  t'other  side 
an'  then  t'other  an'  the  feller  kep'  a  slappin'  hot 
'n  heavy.  It  was  jes'  like  strappin'  a  razor  fer 
half  a  minnit.  Then  Ranney  sailed  in — gin 
him  the  wust  lickin'  he  ever  hed. 

"  '  I  declare,'  says  another  man,  after  'twas 
all  over,     '  I  thought  you  was  a  Christian.' 

"  '  Am  up  to  a  cert'in  p'int,'  says  he.  '  Can't 
go  tew  fur  not  'n  these  parts — men  are  tew 
powerful.  'Twon't  do  'less  ye  wan'  t'  die  sud- 
den. When  he  begun  poundin'  uv  me  I  see 
I  wan't  eggzac'ly  prepared.' 

"  'Fraid  's  a  good  deal  thet  way  with  most 
uv  us.  We're  Christians  up  to  a  cert'in  p'int. 
Fer  one  thing,  I  think  if  a  man'll  stan'  still  an' 
see  himself  knocked  into  the  nex'  world  he's  a 
leetle  tew  good  fer  this." 

The  good  lady  began  to  preach  and  argue. 
For  an  hour  Uncle  Eb  sat  listening  unable  to 
get  in  a  word.  When,  at  last,  she  left  him  he 
came  to  us  a  look  of  relief  in  his  face. 

"  I  b'lieve,"  said  he,  "  if  Balaam's  ass  hed 
been  rode  by  a  woman  he  never  'd  hev  spoke." 

"  Why  not?  "  I  inquired. 
400 


Eben   Holden 

"  Never'd  hev  hed  a  chance,"  Uncle  Eb 
added. 

We  were  two  weeks  at  home  with  mother 
and  father  and  Uncle  Eb.  It  was  a  delightful 
season  of  rest  in  which  Hope  and  I  went  over 
the  sloping  roads  of  Faraway  and  walked  in  the 
fields  and  saw  the  harvesting.  She  had  ap- 
pointed Christmas  day  for  our  wedding  and  I 
was  not  to  go  again  to  the  war,  for  now  my  first 
duty  was  to  my  own  people.  If  God  prospered 
me  they  were  all  to  come  to  live  with  us  in  town 
and,  though  slow  to  promise,  I  could  see  it  gave 
them  comfort  to  know  we  were  to  be  for  them 
ever  a  staff  and  refuge. 

And  the  evening  before  we  came  back  to 
town  Jed  Feary  was  with  us  and  Uncle  Eb 
played  his  flute  and  sang  the  songs  that  had 
been  the  delight  of  our  childhood. 

The  old  poet  read  these  lines  written  in  mem- 
ory of  old  times  in  Faraway  and  of  Hope's  girl- 
hood. 

The  red  was  in  the  clover  an'  the  blue  was  in  the  sky : 
There  was  music  in  the  meadow,  there  was  dancing  in 

the  rye; 
An'  I  heard  a  voice  a  calling  to  the  flocks  o'  Faraway 
An'  its  echo  in  the  wooded  hills — Co'  day !    Co'    day ! 

Co'  day ! 

O  fair  was  she — my  lady  love — an'  lithe  as  the  willow 
tree, 

401 


Eben   Holden 

An'  aye  my  heart  remembers  well  her  parting  words  t' 

me. 
An'  I  was  sad  as  a  beggar-man  but  she  was  blithe  an' 

gay 
An'  I  think  o'  her  as  I  call  the  flocks  Co'  day !    Co'  day ! 

Co'  day ! 

Her  cheeks  they  stole  the  clover's  red,  her  lips  the  odored 

air, 
An'  the  glow  o'  the  morning  sunlight  she  took  away  in 

her  hair ; 
Her   voice   had   the   meadow    music,    her    form   an'    her 

laughing  eye 
Have  taken  the  blue  o'  the  heavens  an'  the  grace  o'  the 

bending  rye. 

My  love  has  robbed  the  summer  day — the  field,  the  sky, 

the  dell, 
She  has  taken  their  treasures  with  her,  she  has  taken  my 

heart  as  well ; 
An'    if   ever,   in   the   further   fields,   her   feet   should   go 

astray 
May  she  hear  the  good  God  calling  her  Co'   day  !    Co' 

day  !    Co'  day  ! 


402 


CHAPTER  XLI 

I  got  a  warm  welcome  on  Monkey  Hill. 
John  Trumbull,  came  to  dine  with  us  at  the 
chalet  the  evening  of  my  arrival.  McClingan 
had  become  editor  in  chief  of  a  new  daily  news- 
paper. Since  the  war  began  Mr.  Force  had 
found  ample  and  remunerative  occupation  wri- 
ting the  "  Obituaries  of  Distinguished  Per- 
sons." He  sat  between  Trumbull  and  Mc- 
Clingan at  table  and  told  again  of  the  time  he 
had  introduced  the  late  Daniel  Webster  to  the 
people  of  his  native  town. 

Reciting  a  passage  of  the  immortal  Senator 
he  tipped  his  beer  into  the  lap  of  McClingan. 
He  ceased  talking  and  sought  pardon. 

"  It  is  nothing,  Force — nothing,"  said  the 
Scotchman,  with  great  dignity,  as  he  wiped  his 
coat  and  trousers.  "  You  will  pardon  me  if  I 
say  that  I  had  rather  be  drenched  in  beer  than 
soaked  in  recollections." 

"That's  all  right,"  said  Mr.  Opper,  handing 
him  a  new  napkin. 

"  Yes,  in  the  midst  of  such  affliction  I  should 
call  it  excellent  fun,"  McClingan  added.     "  If 
4°3 


Eben  Holden 

you  ever  die,  Force,  I  will  preach  the  sermon 
without  charge." 

"On  what  text?"  the  obituary  editor  in- 
quired. 

"  '  There  remaineth  therefore,  a  rest  for  the 
people  of  God,'  "  quoth  McClingan  solemnly. 
"  Hebrews,  fourth  chapter  and  ninth  verse." 

"  If  I  continue  to  live  with  you  I  shall  need 
it,"  said  Force. 

"  And  if  I  endure  to  the  end,"  said  Mc- 
Clingan, "  I  shall  have  excellent  Christian  dis- 
cipline; I  shall  feel  like  opening  my  mouth  and 
making  a  loud  noise." 

McClingan  changed  his  garments  and  then 
came  into  my  room  and  sat  with  us  awhile 
after  dinner. 

"  One  needs  ear  lappers  and  a  rubber  coat  at 
that  table,"  said  he. 

"  And  a  chest  protector,"  I  suggested  re- 
membering the  finger  of  Force. 

"  I  shall  be  leaving  here  soon,  Brower,"  said 
McClingan  as  he  lit  a  cigar. 

"  Where  shall  you  go?  "  I  asked. 

"  To  my  own  house." 

"  Going  to  hire  a  housekeeper?  " 

"  Going  to  marry  one,"  said  he. 

"  That's  funny,"  I  said.     "  We're  all  to  be 
married — every  man  of  us." 
404 


Eben  Holden 

"  By  Jove!  "  said  McClingan,  "  this  is  a  time 
for  congratulation.  God  save  us  and  grant 
for  us  all  the  best  woman  in  the  world." 


405 


CHAPTER  XLII 

For  every  man  he  knew  and  loved  Mr  Gree- 
ley had  a  kindness  that  filled  him  to  the  finger 
tips.  When  I  returned  he  smote  me  on  the 
breast — an  unfailing  mark  of  his  favor — and 
doubled  my  salary. 

"If  he  ever  smites  you  on  the  breast,"  Mc- 
Clingan  had  once  said  to  me,  "  turn  the  other 
side,  for,  man,  your  fortune  is  made." 

And  there  was  some  truth  in  the  warning. 

He  was  writing  when  I  came  in.  A  woman 
sat  beside  him  talking.  An  immense  ham  lay 
on  the  marble  top  of  the  steam  radiator;  a  bas- 
ket of  eggs  sat  on  the  floor  near  Mr.  Greeley's 
desk.  All  sorts  of  merchandise  were  sent  to 
the  Tribune  those  days,  for  notice,  and  sold  at 
auction,  to  members  of  the  staff,  by  Air.  Dana. 

"  Yes,  yes,  Madame,  go  on,  I  hear  you,"  said 
the  great  editor,  as  his  pen  flew  across  the  white 
page. 

She  asked  him  then  for  a  loan  of  money. 
He  continued  writing  but,  presently,  his  left 
hand  dove  into  his  trousers  pocket  coming  up 
full  of  bills. 

406 


Eben  Holden 

"  Take  what  you  want,"  said  he,  holding-  it  to- 
ward her,  "  and  please  go  for  I  am  very  busy." 
Whereupon  she  helped  herself  liberally  and 
went  away. 

Seeing  me,  Mr.  Greeley  came  and  shook  my 
hand  warmly  and  praised  me  for  a  good  sol- 
dier. 

"  Going  down  town,"  he  said  in  a  moment, 
drawing  on  his  big  white  overcoat;  "walk 
along  with  me — won't  you?" 

We  crossed  the  park,  he  leading  me  with 
long  strides.  As  we  walked  he  told  how  he 
had  been  suffering  from  brain  fever.  Passing 
St.  Paul's  church  yard  he  brushed  the  iron 
pickets  with  his  hand  as  if  to  try  the  feel  of 
them.  Many  turned  to  stare  at  him  curiously. 
He  asked  me,  soon,  if  I  would  care  to  do  a  cer- 
tain thing  for  the  Tribune,  stopping,  to  look 
in  at  a  show  window,  as  I  answered  him.  I 
waited  while  he  did  his  errand  at  a  Broadway 
shop;  then  we  came  back  to  the  office.  The 
publisher  was  in  Mr.  Greeley's  room. 

"  Where's  my  ham,  Dave?  "  said  the  editor 
as  he  looked  at  the  slab  of  marble  where  the 
ham  had  lain. 

"  Don't  know  for  sure,"  said  the  publisher, 

"  it's  probably  up  at  the  house  of  the  

editor  by  this  time." 

407 


Eben  Holden 

"  What  did  you  go  'n  give  it  to  him  for?  " 
drawled  Mr.  Greeley  in  a  tone  of  irreparable 
injury.  "  I  wanted  that  ham  for  myself." 

"  I  didn't  give  it  to  him,"  said  the  publisher. 
"  He  came  and  helped  himself.  Said  he  sup- 
posed it  was  sent  in  for  notice." 

"  The  infernal  thief !  "  Mr.  Greeley  piped 
with  a  violent  gesture.  "  I'll  swear !  if  I  didn't 
keep  my  shirt  buttoned  tight  they'd  have  that, 
too." 

The  ham  was  a  serious  obstacle  in  the  way  of 
my  business  and  it  went  over  until  evening. 
But  that  and  like  incidents  made  me  to  know 
the  man  as  I  have  never  seen  him  pictured — a 
boy  grown  old  and  grey,  pushing  the  power  of 
manhood  with  the  ardors  of  youth. 

I  resumed  work  on  the  Tribune  that  week. 
My  first  assignment  was  a  mass  meeting  in  a 
big  temporary  structure — then  called  a  wig- 
wam— over  in  Brooklyn.  My  political  life  be- 
gan that  day  and  all  by  an  odd  chance.  The 
wigwam  was  crowded  to  the  doors.  The  au- 
dience had  been  waiting  half  an  hour  for  the 
speaker.  The  chairman  had  been  doing  his 
best  to  kill  time  but  had  run  out  of  ammunition. 
He  had  sat  down  to  wait;  an  awkward  silence 
had   begun.     The   crowd    was    stamping   and 


408 


Eben  Holden 

whistling  and  clapping  with  impatience.  As  I 
walked  down  the  centre  aisle,  to  the  reporter's 
table,  they  seemed  to  mistake  me  for  the 
speaker.  Instantly  a  great  uproar  began.  It 
grew  louder  every  step  I  took.  I  began  to 
wonder  and  then  to  fear  the  truth.  As  I 
neared  the  stage  the  chairman  came  forward 
beckoning  to  me.  I  went  to  the  flight  of  steps 
leading  up  to  that  higher  level  of  distinguished 
citizens  and  halted,  not  knowing  just  what  to 
do.  He  came  and  leaned  over  and  whispered 
down  at  me.  I  remember  he  was  red  in  the 
face  and  damp  with  perspiration. 

"  What  is  your  name?  "  he  inquired. 

"  Brower,"  said  I  in  a  whisper. 

A  look  of  relief  came  into  his  face  and  I  am 
sure  a  look  of  anxiety  came  into  mine.  He 
had  taken  the  centre  of  the  stage  before  I 
could  stop  him. 

"  Ladies  and  gentlemen,"  said  he,  "  I  am 
glad  to  inform  you  that  General  Brower  has  at 
last  arrived." 

I  remembered  then  there  was  a  General 
Brower  in  the  army  who  was  also  a  power  in 
politics. 

In  the  storm  of  applause  that  followed  this 
announcement,  I  beckoned  him  to  the  edge  of 


409 


Eben   Hdlden 

the  platform  again.  I  was  nearer  a  condition 
of  mental  panic  than  I  have  ever  known  since 
that  day. 

"  I  am  not  General  Brower,"  I  whispered. 

"  What !  "  said  he  in  amazement. 

"  I  am  not  General  Brower,"  I  said. 

"  Great  heavens !  "  he  whispered,  covering 
his  mouth  with  his  hand  and  looking  very 
thoughtful.  '  You'll  have  to  make  a  speech, 
anyway — there's  no  escape." 

I  could  see  no  way  out  of  it  and,  after  a  mo- 
ment's hesitation,  ascended  the  platform,  took 
off  my  overcoat  and  made  a  speech.  Fortu- 
nately the  issue  was  one  with  which  I  had  been 
long  familiar.  I  told  them  how  I  had  been 
trapped.  The  story  put  the  audience  in  good 
humor  and  they  helped  me  along  with  very  gen- 
erous applause.  And  so  began  my  career  in 
politics  which  has  brought  me  more  honor  than 
I  deserved  although  I  know  it  has  not  been 
wholly  without  value  to  my  country.  It  en- 
abled me  to  repay  in  part  the  kindness  of  my 
former  chief  at  a  time  when  he  was  sadly  in 
need  of  friends.  I  remember  meeting  him  in 
Washington  a  day  of  that  exciting  campaign  of 
'j2.     I  was  then  in  Congress. 

"  I  thank  you  for  what  you  have  done 
Brower,"  said  he,  "  but  I  tell  you  I  am  licked. 
410 


Rben  Holden 

I  shall  not  carry  a  single  state.     I  am  going  to 
be  slaughtered." 

He  had  read  his  fate  and  better  than  he  knew. 
In  politics  he  was  a  great  prophet. 


4TI 


CHAPTER  XLIII 

The  north  country  lay  buried  in  the  snow 
that  Christmas  time.  Here  and  there  the  steam 
plow  had  thrown  its  furrows,  on  either  side  of 
the  railroad,  high  above  the  window  line.  The 
fences  were  muffled  in  long  ridges  of  snow 
their  stakes  showing  like  pins  in  a  cushion  of 
white  velvet.  Some  of  the  small  trees  on  the 
edge  of  the  big  timber  stood  overdrifted  to  their 
boughs.  I  have  never  seen  such  a  glory  of  the 
morning  as  when  the  sun  came  up,  that  day 
we  were  nearing  home,  and  lit  the  splendor  of 
the  hills,  there  in  the  land  I  love.  The  frosty 
nap  of  the  snow  glowed  far  and  near  with  puls- 
ing glints  of  pale  sapphire. 

We  came  into  Hillsborough  at  noon  the  day 
before  Christmas.  Father  and  Uncle  Eb  met 
us  at  the  depot  and  mother  stood  waving  her 
handkerchief  at  the  door  as  we  drove  up.  And 
when  we  were  done  with  our  greetings  and 
were  standing,  damp  eyed,  to  warm  ourselves 
at  the  fire,  Uncle  Eb  brought  his  palms  to- 
gether with  a  loud  whack  and  said : 

"  Look  here,  Liz'beth  Brower !  I  want  t'  hev 
ye  tell  me  if  ye  ever  see  a  likelier  pair  o'  colts." 
412 


Eben  Holden 

She  laughed  as  she  looked  at  us.  In  a  mo- 
ment she  ran  her  hand  down  the  side  of  Hope's 
gown.  Then  she  lifted  a  fold  of  the  cloth  and 
felt  of  it  thoughtfully. 

"  How  much  was  that  a  yard  ?  "  she  asked  a 
dreamy  look  in  her  eyes.  "  W'y!  w'y!"  she 
continued  as  Hope  told  her  the  sum.  "  Terri- 
ble steep!  but  it  does  fit  splendid!  Oughter 
wear  well  too !  Wish  ye'd  put  that  on  if  ye 
go  t'  church  nex'  Sunday." 

"  O  mother !  "  said  Hope,  laughing,  "  I'll 
wear  my  blue  silk." 

"  Come  boys  'n  girls,"  said  Elizabeth  sud- 
denly, "  dinner's  all  ready  in  the  other  room." 

"  Beats  the  world !  "  said  Uncle  Eb,  as  we  sat 
down  at  the  table.  "Ye  do  look  gran'  t'  me — 
ree-markable  gran',  both  uv  ye.  Tek  a  pre- 
mium at  any  fair — ye  would  sartin." 

"Has  he  won  yer  affections?"  said  David 
laughing  as  he  looked  over  at  Hope. 

"  He  has,"  said  she  solemnly. 

"  Affections  are  a  sing'lar  kind  o'  prop'ty," 
said  Uncle  Eb.  "  Hain't  good  fer  nuthin'  'til 
ye've  gin  em  away.  Then,  like  as  not,  they  git 
very  valyble." 

"  Good  deal  that  way  with  money  too,"  said 
Elizabeth  Brower. 

"  I  recollec'  when  Hope  was  a  leetle  bit  uv 
413 


Eben  Holden 

a  girl  "  said  Uncle  Eb,  "  she  used  t'  say  'et 
when  she  got  married  she  was  goin'  t'  hev  us 
all  come  t'  live  with  her,  an'  hev  her  husban' 
rub  my  back  fer  me  when  it  was  lame." 

"  I  haven't  forgotten  it,"  said  Hope,  "  and  if 
you  will  all  come  you  will  make  us  happier." 

"Good  many  mouths  t'  feed!"  Uncle  Eb 
remarked. 

"  I  could  take  in  sewing  and  help  some," 
said  Elizabeth  Brower,  as  she  sipped  her  tea. 

There  was  a  little  quiver  in  David's  under  lip 
as  he  looked  over  at  her. 

"  You  aint  able  t'  do  hard  work  any  more, 
mother,"  said  he. 

"  She  wont  never  hev  to  nuther,"  said  Uncle 
Eb.  "  Don't  never  pay  t'  go  lookin'  fer  trouble 
— it's  tew  easy  t'  find.  There  ain'  no  sech 
things  's  trouble  'n  this  world  'less  ye  look  fer 
it.  Happiness  wont  hev  nuthin  t'  dew  with  a 
man  thet  likes  trouble.  Minnit  a  man  stops 
lookin'  fer  trouble  happiness  '11  look  fer  him. 
Things  come  purty  nigh's  ye  like  'em  here  'n 
this  world — hot  er  cold  er  only  middlin'.  Ye 
can  either  laugh  er  cry  er  fight  er  fish  er  go 
t'  meetin'.  If  ye  don't  like  erry  one  ye  can  fin' 
fault.  I'm  on  the  lookout  fer  happiness — suits 
me  best,  someway,  an'  don't  hurt  my  feelin's 
a  bit." 

"  Ev'ry  day's  a  kind  uv  a  circus  day  with 
414 


Eben  Holden 

you,  Holden,"  said  David  Brower.  "  Alwuss 
hevin'  a  good  time.  Ye  can  hev  more  fun  with 
yerself  'n  any  man  I  ever  see." 

"  If  I  hev  as  much  hereafter  es  I've  hed  here 
I  aint  a  goin'  t'  fin'  no  fault,"  said  Uncle  Eb. 
"  'S  a  reel,  splendid  world.  God's  fixed  it  up 
so  ev'ry  body  can  hev  a  good  time  if  they'll  only 
hev  it.  Once  I  heard  uv  a  poor  man  'at  hed  a 
bushel  o'  corn  give  tew  him.  He  looked  up 
kind  o'  sad  an'  ast  if  they  would  n't  please  shell 
it.  Then  they  tuk  it  away.  God's  gin  us  hap- 
piness in  the  ear,  but  He  aint  a  goin'  t'  shell  it 
fer  us.  You'n  'Lizabeth  oughter  be  very  happy. 
Look  a'  them  tew  childern !  " 

There  came  a  rap  at  the  door  then.  David 
put  on  his  cap  and  went  out  with  Uncle  Eb. 

"  It's  somebody  for  more  money,"  Elizabeth 
whispered,  her  eyes  filling.  "  I  know  'tis,  or 
he  would  have  asked  him  in.  We're  goin'  t' 
lose  our  home." 

Her  lips  quivered;  she  covered  her  eyes  a 
moment. 

"  David  aint  well,"  she  continued.  "  Wor- 
ries night  'n  day  over  money  matters.  Don't 
say  much,  but  I  can  see  it's  alwuss  on  his  mind. 
Woke  up  in  the  middle  o'  the  night  awhile  ago. 
Found  him  sittin'  by  the  stove.  '  Mother,'  he 
said,  '  we  can't  never  go  back  to  farmin'.  I've 
415 


Eben  Holden 

plowed  furrows  enough  t'  go  'round  the  world. 
Couldn't  never  go  through  it  ag'in.'  '  Well,' 
said  I,  '  if  you  think  best  we  could  start  over 
'n  see  how  we  git  along.  I'm  willin'  t'  try  it.' 
'  No,  we're  too  old,'  he  says.  '  Thet's  out  o' 
the  question.  I've  been  thinkin'  what  '11  we  do 
there  with  Bill  'n  Hope  if  we  go  t'  live  with 
'em?  Don't  suppose  they'll  hev  any  hosses  t' 
take  care  uv  er  any  wood  t'  chop.  What  we'll 
hev  t'  do  is  more'n  I  can  make  out.  We  can't 
do  nuthin';  we've  never  learnt  how.'  " 

"  We've  thought  that  all  over,"  I  said.  "  We 
may  have  a  place  in  the  country  with  a  big 
garden." 

"  Well,"  said  she,  "  I'm  very  well  if  I  am 
over  sixty.  I  can  cook  an'  wash  an'  mend  an' 
iron  just  as  well  as  I  ever  could." 

Uncle  Eb  came  to  the  door  then. 

"  Bill,"  he  said,  "  I  want  you  'n  Hope  t'  come 
out  here  'n  look  at  this  young  colt  o'  mine.  He's 
playful  's  a  kitten." 

We  put  on  our  wraps  and  went  to  the  stable. 
Uncle  Eb  was  there  alone. 

"  If  ye  brought  any  Crissmus  presents,"  he 
whispered,  "  slip  'em  into  my  han's.  I'm  goin' 
t'  run  the  cirkis  t'  morrow  an'  if  we  dont  hev 
fun  a  plenty  I'll  miss  my  guess." 

"  I'll  lay  them  out  in  my  room,"  said  Hope. 
416 


Eben   Holden 

"  Be  sure  'n  put  the  names  on  'em,"  Uncle 
Eb  whispered,  as  Hope  went  away. 

"  What  have  ye  done  with  the  '  bilers?  '  "  I 
inquired. 

"  Sold  'em,"  said  he,  laughing.  "  Barker 
never  kep'  his  promise.  Heard  they'd  gone 
over  t'  the  'Burg  an'  was  tryin'  t'  sell  more  ter- 
ritory. I  says  t'  Dave  '  you  let  me  manage  'em 
an'  I'll  put  'em  out  o'  business  here  'n  this  part 
o'  the  country.'  So  I  writ  out  an  advertisement 
fer  the  paper.    Read  about  this  way : 

"  (  Fer  sale.  Twelve  hunderd  patented  suc- 
tion Wash  B'ilers.  Any  one  at  can't  stan'  pros- 
perity an'  is  learnin'  t'  swear  '11  find  'em  a  great 
help.  If  he  don't  he's  a  bigger  fool  'n  I  am. 
Nuthin'  in  'em  but  tin — that's  wuth  somethin'. 
Warranted  t'  hold  water.' 

"  Wall  ye  know  how  that  editor  talks  P'Twant 
a  day  'fore  the  head  man  o'  the  b'iler  business 
come  'n  bought  'em.  An'  the  advertisement 
was  never  put  in.  Guess  he  wan't  hankerin'  t' 
hev  his  business  sp'ilt." 

Uncle  Eb  was  not  at  the  supper  table  that 
evening. 

"  Where's  Holden?  "  said  Elizabeth  Brower. 

"  Dunno,"  said  David.  "  Goin'  after  Santa 
Claus  he  tol'  me." 

"  Never  see  the  beat  o'  that  man !  "  was  the 
417 


Eben  Holden 

remark  of  Elizabeth,  as  she  poured  the  tea. 
"  Jes'  like  a  boy  ev'ry  Crissmus  time.  Been  so 
excited  fer  a  week  couldn't  hardly  contain  him- 
self." 

"  Ketched  him  out  'n  the  barn  t'  other  day 
laffin'  like  a  fool,"  said  David.  "  Thought  he 
was  crazy." 

We  sat  by  the  fire  after  the  supper  dishes 
were  put  away,  talking  of  all  the  Christmas 
days  we  could  remember.  Hope  and  I  thought 
our  last  in  Faraway  best  of  all  and  no  wonder, 
for  we  had  got  then  the  first  promise  of  the 
great  gift  that  now  made  us  happy.  Elizabeth, 
sitting  in  her  easy  chair,  told  of  Christmas  in 
the  olden  time  when  her  father  had  gone  to  the 
war  with  the  British. 

David  sat  near  me,  his  face  in  the  fire  light — 
the  broad  brow  wrinkled  into  furrows  and 
framed  in  locks  of  iron  grey.  He  was  looking 
thoughtfully  at  the  fire.  Uncle  Eb  came  soon, 
stamping  and  shaking  the  snow  out  of  his  great 
fur  coat. 

"  Col'  night,"  he  said,  warming  his  hands. 

Then  he  carried  his  coat  and  cap  away,  re- 
turning shortly,  with  a  little  box  in  his  hand. 

"  Jes'  thought  I'd  buy  this  fer  fun."  said  he, 
holding  it  down  to  the  fire  light.  "  Dummed  if 
I  ever  see  the  like  uv  it.  Whoa!  "  he  shouted, 
418 


Eben  Holden 

as  the  cover  flew  open,  releasing-  a  jumping- 
jack.  "  Quicker'n  a  grasshopper!  D'ye  ever 
see  sech  a  sassy  little  critter  ?  " 

Then  he  handed  it  to  Elizabeth. 
.  "  Wish  ve  Merry  Christmas,  Dave  Brower!  " 
said  he. 

"  Aint  as  merry  as  I  might  be,"  said  David. 

"  Know  what's  the  matter  with  ye,"  said 
Uncle  Eb.  "  Searchin'  after  trouble — thet's 
what  ye're  doin'.  Findin'  lots  uv  it  right  there 
'n  the  fire.  Trouble  's  goin'  t'  git  mighty  scurce 
'round  here  this  very  self  same  night.  Aint 
goin'  t'  be  nobody  lookin'  fer  it — thet's  why. 
Fer  years  ye've  been  takin'  care  o'  somebody 
et  '11  take  care  'o  you,  long's  ye  live — sartin 
sure.  Folks  they  said  ye  was  fools  when  ye  took 
'em  in.  Man  said  I  was  a  fool  once.  Alwuss  hed 
a  purty  fair  idee  o'  myself  sence  then.  When 
some  folks  call  ye  a  fool  's  a  ruther  good  sign 
ye  aint.  Ye've  waited  a  long  time  fer  yer  pay 
— aint  much  longer  t'  wait  now." 

There  was  a  little  quaver  in  his  voice.  We  all 
looked  at  him  in  silence.  Uncle  Eb  drew  out 
his  wallet  with  trembling  hands,  his  fine  old  face 
lit  with  a  deep  emotion.  David  looked  up  at  him 
as  if  he  wondered  what  joke  was  coming,  until 
he  saw  his  excitement. 

"  Here's  twenty  thousan'  dollars,"  said  Uncle 
419 


Eben  Holden 

Eb,  "a  reel,  genuwine  bank  check! — jist  as 
good  as  gold.  Here  'tis !  A  Crissmus  present 
fer  you  'n  Elizabeth.  An'  may  God  bless  ye 
both !  " 

David  looked  up  incredulously.  Then  he 
took  the  bit  of  paper.  A  big  tear  rolled  down 
his  cheek. 

"Why,  Holden!  What  does  this  mean?" 
he  asked. 

"  'At  the  Lord  pays  His  debts,"  said  Uncle 
Eb.    "  Read  it." 

Hope  had  lighted  the  lamp. 

David  rose  and  put  on  his  spectacles.  One 
eyebrow  had  lifted  above  the  level  of  the  other. 
He  held  the  check  to  the  lamp  light.  Elizabeth 
stood  at  his  elbow. 

"  Why,  mother !  "  said  he,  "  Is  this  from  our 
boy?  From  Nehemiah?  Why,  Nehemiah  is 
dead !  "  he  added,  looking  over  his  spectacles 
at  Uncle  Eb. 

"  Nehemiah  is  not  dead,"  said  the  latter. 

"  Nehemiah  not  dead !  "  he  repeated,  looking 
down  at  the  draft. 

They  turned  it  in  the  light,  reading  over  and 
over  again  the  happy  tidings  pinned  to  one 
corner  of  it.  Then  they  looked  into  each  other's 
eyes. 

Elizabeth  put  her  arms  about  David's  neck 
420 


Eben  Holden 

and  laid  her  head  upon  his  shoulder  and  not  one 
of  us  dare  trust  himself  to  speak  for  a  little. 
Uncle  Eb  broke  the  silence. 

"  Got  another  present,"  he  said.  "  'S  a 
good  deal  better  'n  gold  er  silver — " 

A  knock  at  the  door  interrupted  him.  He 
swung  it  open  quickly.  A  tall,  bearded  man 
came  in. 

"  Mr.  Trumbull !  "  Hope  exclaimed,  rising. 

"  David  an'  Elizabeth  Brower,"  said  Uncle 
Eb,  "  The  dead  hes  come  t'  life.  I  give  ye  back 
yer  son — Nehemiah." 

Then  he  swung  his  cap  high  above  his  head, 
shouting  in  a  loud  voice :  "  Merry  Crissmus ! 
Merry  Crissmus !  " 

The  scene  that  followed  I  shall  not  try  to  pic- 
ture. It  was  so  full  of  happiness  that  every  day 
of  our  lives  since  then  has  been  blessed  with  it 
and  with  a  peace  that  has  lightened  every  sor- 
row ;  of  it,  I  can  truly  say  that  it  passeth  all  un- 
derstanding. 

"  Look  here,  folks !  "  said  Uncle  Eb,  after 
awhile,  as  he  got  his  flute,  "  my  feelin's  hev 
been  teched  hard.  If  I  don't  hev  some  jollifica- 
tion I'll  bust.  Bill  Brower,  limber  up  yer 
leather  a  leetle  bit." 


421 


CHAPTER  XLIV 

Nehemiah,  whom  I  had  known  as  John 
Trumbull,  sat  a  long-  time  between  his  father 
and  mother,  holding  a  hand  of  each,  and  talk- 
ing in  a  low  tone,  while  Hope  and  I  were  in  the 
kitchen  with  Uncle  Eb.  Now  that  father  and 
son  were  side  by  side  we  saw  how  like  they 
were  and  wondered  we  had  never  guessed  the 
truth. 

"  Do  }'ou  remember?  "  said  Nehemiah,  when 
we  returned,  "  Do  you  remember  when  you 
were  a  little  boy,  coming  one  night  to  the  old 
log  house  on  Bowman's  Hill  with  Uncle  Eb?  " 

"  I  remember  it  very  well,"  I  answered. 

"  That  was  the  first  time  I  ever  saw  you,"  he 
said. 

"  Why — you  are  not  the  night  man  ?  " 

"  I  was  the  night  man,"  he  answered. 

I  stared  at  him  with  something  of  the  old, 
familiar  thrill  that  had  always  come  at  the  men- 
tion of  him  years  agone. 

"  He's  grown  a  leetle  since  then,"  said  Uncle 
Eb. 

422 


Eben   Holden 

"  I  thought  so  the  night  I  carried  him  off  the 
field  at  Bull  Run,"  said  Nehemiah. 

"  Was  that  you?  "  I  asked  eagerly. 

"  It  was,"  he  answered.  "  I  came  over  from 
Washington  that  afternoon.  Your  colonel  told 
me  you  had  been  wounded." 

"  Wondered  who  you  were,  but  I  could  not 
get  you  to  answer.  I  have  to  thank  you  for  my 
life." 

Hope  put  her  arms  about  his  neck  and  kissed 
him. 

"  Tell  us,"  said  she,  "  how  you  came  to  be 
the  night  man." 

He  folded  his  arms  and  looked  down  and  be- 
gan his  story. 

"  Years  ago  I  had  a  great  misfortune.  I  was 
a  mere  boy  at  the  time.  By  accident  I  killed  an- 
other boy  in  play.  It  was  an  old  gun  we  were 
playing  with  and  nobody  knew  it  was  loaded. 
I  had  often  quarrelled  with  the  other  boy — that 
is  why  they  thought  I  had  done  it  on  purpose. 
There  was  a  dance  that  night.  I  had  got  up  in 
the  evening,  crawled  out  of  the  window  and 
stolen  away.  We  were  in  Rickard's  stable.  I 
remember  how  the  people  ran  out  with  lanterns. 
They  would  have  hung  me — some  of  them — 
or  given  me  the  blue  beech,  if  a  boy  friend  had 
not  hurried  me  away.  It  was  a  terrible  hour. 
423 


Eben  Holden 

I  was  stunned;  I  could  say  nothing.  They 
drove  me  to  the  'Burg,  the  boy's  father  chasing 
us.  I  got  over  into  Canada,  walked  to  Mon- 
treal and  there  went  to  sea.  It  was  foolish,  I 
know,  but  I  was  only  a  boy  of  fifteen.  I  took 
another  name;  I  began  a  new  life.  Nehemiah 
Brower  was  like  one  dead.  In  'Frisco  I  saw 
Ben  Gilman.  He  had  been  a  school  mate  in 
Faraway.  He  put  his  hand  on  my  shoulder 
and  called  me  the  old  name.  It  was  hard  to 
deny  it — the  hardest  thing  I  ever  did.  I  was 
homesick;  I  wanted  to  ask  him  about  my 
mother  and  father  and  my  sister,  who  was  a 
baby  when  I  left.  I  would  have  given  my  life 
to  talk  with  him.    But  I  shook  my  head. 

"  '  No,'  I  said,  '  my  name  is  not  Brower.  You 
are  mistaken.' 

"  Then  I  walked  away  and  Nemy  Brower 
stayed  in  his  grave. 

"  Well,  two  years  later  we  were  cruising 
from  Sidney  to  Van  Dieman's  Land.  One 
night  there  came  a  big  storm.  A  shipmate  was 
washed  away  in  the  dark.  We  never  saw  him 
again.  They  found  a  letter  in  his  box  that  said 
his  real  name  was  Nehemiah  Brower,  son  of 
David  Brower,  of  Faraway,  N.  Y.,  U.  S.  A. 
I  put  it  there,  of  course,  and  the  captain  wrote 
a  letter  to  my  father  about  the  death  of  his  son. 
424 


Eben  Holden 

My  old  self  was  near  done  for  and  the  man 
Trumbull  had  a  new  lease  of  life.  You  see  in 
my  madness  I  had  convicted  and  executed  my- 
self." 

He  paused  a  moment.  His  mother  put  her 
hand  upon  his  shoulder  with  a  word  of  gentle 
sympathy.     Then  he  went  on. 

"  Well,  six  years  after  I  had  gone  away,  one 
evening  in  mid-summer,  we  came  into  the  har- 
bor of  Quebec.  I  had  been  long  in  the  southern 
seas.  When  I  went  ashore,  on  a  day's  leave, 
and  wandered  off  in  the  fields  and  got  the 
smell  of  the  north,  I  went  out  of  my  head — 
went  crazy  for  a  look  at  the  hills  o'  Faraway 
and  my  own  people.  Nothing  could  stop  me 
then.  I  drew  my  pay,  packed  my  things  in  a 
bag  and  off  I  went.  Left  the  'Burg  afoot  the 
day  after;  got  to  Faraway  in  the  evening.  It 
was  beautiful — the  scent  o'  the  new  hay  that 
stood  in  cocks  and  winrows  on  the  hill — the 
noise  o'  the  crickets — the  smell  o'  the  grain — 
the  old  house,  just  as  I  remembered  them;  just 
as  I  had  dreamed  of  them  a  thousand  times. 
And  when  I  went  by  the  gate  Bony — my  old 
dog — came  out  and  barked  at  me  and  I  spoke  to 
him  and  he  knew  me  and  came  and  licked  my 
hands,  rubbing  upon  my  leg.  I  sat  down  with 
him  there  by  the  stone  wall  and  the  kiss  of  that 
425 


Eben  Holden 

old  dog — the  first  token  of  love  I  had  known  for 
years — called  back  the  dead  and  all  that  had 
been  his.  I  put  my  arms  about  his  neck  and 
was  near  crying  out  with  joy. 

"  Then  I  stole  up  to  the  house  and  looked  in 
at  a  window.  There  sat  father,  at  a  table,  read- 
ing his  paper;  and  a  little  girl  was  on  her  knees 
by  mother  saying  her  prayers." 

He  stopped  a  moment,  covering  his  eyes  with 
his  handkerchief. 

"  That  was  Hope,"  I  whispered. 

'  That  was  Hope,"  he  went  on.  "  All  the 
king's  oxen  could  not  have  dragged  me  out  of 
Faraway  then.  Late  at  night  I  went  off  into  the 
woods.  The  old  clog  followed  to  stay  with  me 
until  he  died.  If  it  had  not  been  for  him  I  should 
have  been  hopeless.  I  had  with  me  enough  to 
eat  for  a  time.  We  found  a  cave  in  a  big  ledge 
over  back  of  Bull  Pond.  Its  mouth  was  covered 
with  briars.  It  had  a  big  room  and  a  stream  of 
cold  water  trickling  through  a  crevice.  I  made 
it  my  home  and  a  fine  place  it  was — cool  in 
summer  and  warm  in  winter.  I  caught  a  cub 
panther  that  fall  and  a  baby  coon.  They  grew 
up  with  me  there  and  were  the  only  friends  I 
had  after  Bony,  except  Uncle  Eb." 

"Uncle  Eb!"  I  exclaimed. 

"  You  know  how  I  met  him,"  he  continued. 
426 


Eben   Holden 

"  Well,  he  won  my  confidence.  I  told  him  my 
history.  I  came  into  the  clearing  almost  every 
night.  Met  him  often.  He  tried  to  persuade 
me  to  come  back  to  my  people,  but  I  could  not 
do  it.  I  was  insane;  I  feared  something — I 
did  not  know  what.  Sometimes  I  doubted  even 
my  own  identity.  Many  a  summer  night  I  sat 
talking  for  hours,  with  Uncle  Eb,  at  the  foot  of 
Lone  Pine.  O,  he  was  like  a  father  to  me !  God 
knows  what  I  should  have  done  without  him- 
Well,  I  stuck  to  my  life,  or  rather  to  my  death, 
there  in  the  woods — getting  fish  out  of  the 
brooks  and  game  out  of  the  forest,  and  milk 
out  of  the  cows  in  the  pasture.  Sometimes  I 
went  through  the  woods  to  the  store  at  Tifton 
for  flour  and  pork.  One  night  Uncle  Eb  told 
me  if  I  would  go  out  among  men  to  try  my 
hand  at  some  sort  of  business  he  would  start 
me  with  a  thousand  dollars.  Well,  I  did  it. 
I  had  also  a  hundred  dollars  of  my  own.  I 
came  through  the  woods  afoot.  Bought  fash- 
ionable clothing  at  Utica,  and  came  to  the  big 
city — you  know  the  rest.  Among  men  my  fear 
has  left  me,  so  I  wonder  at  it.  I  am  a  debtor 
to  love — the  love  of  Uncle  Eb  and  that  of  a 
noble  woman  I  shall  soon  marry.  It  has  made 
me  whole  and  brought  me  back  to  my  own 
people." 

427 


Eben  Holden 

"  And  every  body  knew  he  was  innocent  the 
day  after  he  left,"  said  David. 

"  Three  cheers  for  Uncle  Eb !  "  I  demanded. 

And  we  gave  them. 

"  I  declare !  "  said  he.  "  In  all  my  born  days 
never  see  sech  fun.  It's  tree-men jious!  I  tell 
ye.  Them  'et  takes  care  uv  others  '11  be  took 
care  uv — 'less  they  do  it  o'  purpose." 

And  when  the  rest  of  us  had  gone  to  bed 
Uncle  Eb  sat  awhile  by  the  fire  with  David. 
Late  at  night  he  came  up  stairs  with  his  candle. 
He  came  over  to  my  bed  on  tiptoe  to  see  if  I 
were  awake,  holding  the  candle  above  my  head. 
I  was  worn  out  and  did  not  open  my  eyes. 
He  sat  down  snickering. 

"  Tell  ye  one  thing,  Dave  Brower,"  he  whis- 
pered to  himself  as  he  drew  off  his  boots 
"  when  some  folks  calls  ye  a  fool  's  a  purty 
good  sign  ye  aint." 


428 


CHAPTER  XLV 

Since  that  day  I  have  seen  much  coming  and 
going. 

We  are  now  the  old  folks — Margaret  and 
Nehemiah  and  Hope  and  I.  Those  others,  with 
their  rugged  strength,  their  simple  ways,  their 
undying  youth,  are  of  the  past.  The  young 
folks — they  are  a  new  kind  of  people.  It  gives 
us  comfort  to  think  they  will  never  have  to 
sing  in  choirs  or  "  pound  the  rock  "  for  board 
money;  but  I  know  it  is  the  worse  luck  for  them. 
They  are  a  fine  lot  of  young  men  and  women — 
comely  and  well  mannered — but  they  will  not 
be  the  pathfinders  of  the  future.  What  with 
balls  and  dinners  and  clubs  and  theatres,  they 
find  too  great  a  solace  in  the  rear  rank. 

Nearly  twenty  years  after  that  memorable 
Christmas,  coming  from  Buffalo  to  New  York 
one  summer  morning,  my  thoughts  went  astray 
in  the  north  country.  The  familiar  faces,  the 
old  scenes  came  trooping  by  and  that  very  day 
I  saw  the  sun  set  in  Hillsborough  as  I  had  often 
those  late  years. 

429 


Eben  Holden 

Mother  was  living  in  the  old  home,  alone, 
with  a  daughter  of  Grandma  Bisnctte.  It  was 
her  wish  to  live  and  die  under  that  roof.  She 
cooked  me  a  fine  supper,  with  her  own  hands, 
and  a  great  anxiety  to  please  me. 

"Come  Willie!"  said  she,  as  if  I  were  a 
small  boy  again,  "  you  fill  the  woodbox  an'  I'll 
git  supper  ready.  Lucindy,  you  clear  out,"  she 
said  to  the  hired  girl,  good  naturedly.  "  You 
dunno  how  t'  cook  for  him." 

I  filled  the  woodbox  and  brought  a  pail  of 
water  and  while  she  was  frying  the  ham  and 
eggs  read  to  her  part  of  a  speech  I  had  made 
in  Congress.  Before  thousands  I  had  never  felt 
more  elation.  At  last  I  was  sure  of  winning 
her  applause.  The  little  bent  figure  stood, 
thoughtfully,  turning  the  ham  and  eggs.  She 
put  the  spider  aside,  to  stand  near  me,  her  hands 
upon  her  hips.  There  was  a  mighty  pride  in 
her  face  when  I  had  finished.  I  rose  and  she 
went  and  looked  out  of  the  window. 

"Grand!"  she  murmured,  wiping  her  eyes 
with  the  corner  of  her  handkerchief. 

"  Glad  you  like  it,"  I  said,  with  great  satis- 
faction. 

"  O,  the  speech !  "  she  answered,  her  elbow 
resting  on  the  window  sash,  her  hand  support- 
ing her  head.  "  I  liked  it  very  well — but — but 
43° 


Eben   Holden 

I  was  thinking  of  the  sunset.     How  beautiful  it 
is." 

I  was  weary  after  my  day  of  travel  and  went 
early  to  bed  there  in  my  old  room.  I  left  her 
finishing  a  pair  of  socks  she  had  been  knitting 
for  me.  Lying  in  bed,  I  could  hear  the  creak  of 
her  chair  and  the  low  sung,  familiar  words : 

"  On  the  other  side  of  Jordan, 
In  the  sweet  fields  of  Eden, 
Where  the  tree  of  life   is  blooming, 
There  is  rest  for  you." 

Late  at  night  she  came  into  my  room  with  a 
candle.  I  heard  her  come  softly  to  the  bed 
where  she  stood  a  moment  leaning  over  me. 
Then  she  drew  the  quilt  about  my  shoulder  with 
a  gentle  hand. 

"  Poor  little  orphan !  "  said  she,  in  a  whisper 
that  trembled.  She  was  thinking  of  my  child- 
hood— of  her  own  happier  days. 

Then  she  went  away  and  I  heard,  in  the 
silence,  a  ripple  of  measureless  waters. 

Next  morning  I  took  flowers  and  strewed 
them  on  the  graves  of  David  and  Uncle  Eb; 
there,  Hope  and  I  go  often  to  sit  for  half  a 
summer  day  above  those  perished  forms,  and 
think  of  the  old  time  and  of  those  last  words  of 
my  venerable  friend  now  graven  on  his  tomb- 
stone : 

43  * 


Eben   Holden 

"  I  ain't  afraid. 

'Shamed  o'  nuthin'  I  ever  done. 

Alwuss  kep'  my  tugs  tight, 

Never  swore  'less  'twas  nec'sary, 

Never  ketched  a  fish  bigger'n  't  was 

Er  lied  'n  a  hoss  trade 

Er  shed  a  tear  I  did  n't  hev  to. 

Never  cheated  anybody  but  Eben  Holden. 

Goin'    off    somewheres,  Bill — dunno  the    way 

nuther — 
Dunno  'f  it's  east  er  west  er  north  er  south, 
Er  road  er  trail ; 
But  I  ain't  afraid." 


THE   END 


43  2 


Selections  from 

Lothrop  Publishing  Company's 


List  of  Books 


BOOKS  BY  ROUNSEVELLE  WILDMAN 
U.  S.    CONSUL  GENERAL   AT   HONG    KONG 

China's    Open   Door 

A  Sketch  of  Chinese  Life  and  History  with  an  intro- 
duction by  HON.  CHARLES  DENBY,  former  U.S. 
minister  to  China.     Illustrated.     12mo,  gilt  top,  $1.50 

THIS  book  is  a  splendid  production.  It  does 
honor  to  the  learning,  the  faculty  of  composi- 
tion, and  the  indefatigable  industry  of  the  author. 
He  has  brought  out  many  new  facts,  and  his  chronol- 
ogy of  events  is  perfect.  —  Charles  Denby. 


Tales  ofthe  Malayan  Coast 

Illustrated  by  HENRY  SANDHAM.     12mo,  cloth, 
gilt  top,  $1.00 

"  Mr.  Wildman,  like  Rudyard  Kipling,  has  fully  absorbed 
the  spirit  of  the  East.  It  is  not  often  one  meets  with  tales  as 
graphic  and  as  brilliantly  written.  "  —  A'.  V.  Home  Journal. 


As  Talked  in   the  Sanctum 

A  Book  about  Men  and  Things.     12mo,  cloth,  gilt 
top,  $1.00. 

¥  ¥  ¥ 

"  A  delightful    vein   of  blended   humor   and  philosophy 
runs  through  these  sketches."  —  Boston  "Journal 


LOTHROP  PUBLISHING  COMPANY,  BOSTON 


Winning  Out. 

A  Book  of  Success. 

By    ORISON  SWETT  MARDEN.      J2mo,  cloth, 
gilt  top,  illustrated.     $1.00. 

DR.  MARDEN,  the  editor  of  Success,  has  never  pre- 
pared a  more  invigorating  or  inspiring  book  than 
this.  It  is  really  the  first  book  he  has  designed  for 
young  people.  To  young  men  whose  ambition  is  honor- 
able success,  this  book  with  its  practical  suggestions 
and  its  wealth  of  example  has  a  value  that  is  almost 
inestimable.  If  any  young  fellow  of  spirit  does  not, 
after  reading  this  book,  act  up  to  the  advice  to  Semproni- 
ous,  he  is  lacking  somewhere  : 

"  'T  is  not  in  mortals  to  command  success 
But  we'll  do  more,  Sempronious,  we'll  achieve  it." 

Concerning  Cats. 

My  Own  and  Some  Others. 

By  HELEN  M.  WINSLOW.    8vo,  cloth,  gilt  top, 
illustrated  from  photographs  of  famous  cats.     $1.50. 

THE  rirst  real  "  cat  book  "  from  a  popular,  practical, 
and  entertaining  standpoint.  Miss  Winslow  is  a 
pronounced  cat-lover,  and  she  here  deals  with  the 
cats  of  history,  the  home  and  the  cat-show  in  a  manner 
that  is  at  once  attractive  and  exhaustive.  Her  book  will 
find  ready  readers  among  cat-lovers  and  cat  "  fanciers  " 
the  world  over.  The  photographic  illustrations  are  beau- 
tiful. 

LOTHROP  PUBLISHING  COMPANY,  . .  BOSTON. 


The  Story  of  the  Nine- 
teenth Century 

By  ELBRIDGE  S.  BROOKS.     J2mo,  cloth.,  illus- 
trated, $1.50 

THE  story  of  "  the  wonderful  century"  —  its  prog- 
ress, its  achievements,  its  inventions,  its  develop- 
ment and  its  results  —  is  here  presented  in  a  con- 
nected, simple,  straightforward  narrative,  showing,  as 
its  main  purpose,  the  progress  of  the  people  out  of 
limitation  to  enlightenment,  out  of  serfdom  to  inde- 
pendence, out  of  selfishness  to  nationality,  out  of 
absolutism  to  liberty.  Chapter  by  chapter,  it  is  an 
absorbing  and  often  dramatic  story,  told  by  one  who 
has  made  a  study  of  popularizing  history. 

In  Blue  and  White 

A  Story  &  American  Revolution 

One  volume,  8vo,  illustrated  by  Merrill,  $1.50 

THIS  stirring  story  of  the  Revolution  details  the 
adventures  of  one  of  Washington's  famous  life- 
guards, who  is  a  college  mate  of  Alexander  Hamilton, 
and  a  personal  follower  of  Washington.  It  is  based 
upon  a  notable  and  dangerous  conspiracy  against  the 
life  of  Washington  in  the  early  days  of  the  Revolution, 
and  introduces  such  famous  characters  as  Washington, 
Hamilton,  Greene,  and  Nathan  Hale.  It  is  a  splen- 
did book  for  boys  and  girls. 


RARE  BOOK 
COLLECTION 


THE  LIBRARY  OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF 

NORTH  CAROLINA 

AT 

CHAPEL  HILL 


Wilmer 
75 


